LYRIC FOR SALE

By MSWolff

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...