when the night steals the memory of day
and hope is lost in the struggle to be -

all that is, becomes despair
too much, too much
ears that cannot hear
hearts that cannot love
my voice silenced before I speak
afraid, deep fear and confusion
a hideous deception of what never was
hiding, but naked still
stripped of self, of truth
while never knowing,
truth turned a liar
deceit all glorious of another morn
stealing the wealth of intent
given on the broad pathway of love
now mired in mud and distrust
what foolish questions linger
to steal our joy and leave us bare
eyes staring at nothingness
longing to see, blinded yet
without anchor or oar
reaching hands that grasp but air
longing, longing, longing
but, no hope to fill the empty space

afraid to speak, to hear, to be

when the night steals the memory of day
and hope is lost in the struggle to be -