flowing like a quiet fog into the valley,
a gentle mist rising above the water
My words a little louder
when read not spoken,
that those things taken for granted
were not always so,
those so often dismissed
might not should be
The hope, if there was one,
that a little uncertainty,
a subtle dissonance,
might awaken a mind
and point to what could be.
That the mystery of Love
was the heart, the soul
of all we knew
and yet didn’t know.
That doubt in the darkness
could lead to light,
to truth.
