Tears Unrealized
by Odin Roark

Sunlit days might have served the beginning.

Full moonlit nights might have fostered continuing.

But such were the stillbirths of our effort,
emotion's leaves falling
without color in the fall.

Then was heard a piano,
a simple scale,
stumbling fingers,
a child learning,
pausing,
allowing laughter of joy,
accepting imperfection as perfect.

Listening,
we succumbed,
lowering our heads in shame,
not for our weeping,
but for having carried tears unrealized so long