Evanescence

Sometimes
What is most beautiful
Is what you cannot quite make out

Occasionally
The purest of harmonies
Lives just on the fringe of silence

What joy can be found
With sorrow close by its side
These two hold hands

The answer is often found
Before the question is asked
We ask it anyway

What do such things mean?
Is this what it is
To have a human heart?


 

© Samuel Birrer and Serendipity, 2017.

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