The weight of what I should have said remains alone.
The porch boards hum the stories I betrayed to rain.
I walk the path I carved by silence, always alone.
The fields remember choices cut like stone,
the furrows bending under every lost refrain of rain.
The weight of what I should have said remains alone.
Your lantern’s ghost still warms the dusk I never owned,
a faint gold flicker pressing through the grain of rain.
I walk the path I carved by silence, always alone.
Regret grows tall where all my better words were sown,
their roots still reaching for a light they never gain in rain.
The weight of what I should have said remains alone.
I hear your voice in wind that moves through bone,
a tempered sound that rises, falls, then thins again to rain.
I walk the path I carved by silence, always alone.
And now each night the memory stands full grown,
a lantern bright against the dark my heart can never feign as plain.
The weight of what I should have said remains alone.
I walk the path I carved by silence, always alone.
About the Creator
Taylor Ward
From a small town, I find joy and grace in my trauma and difficulties. My life, shaped by loss and adversity, fuels my creativity. Each piece written over period in my life, one unlike the last. These words sometimes my only emotion.
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