What grieves a soul more than
A path, not of its own choosing?
When we hide our true desires
Only for the fear of losing.

How many poems were never written?
How many kisses never were given?
How many times has it occurred?
A song was written but never heard?

These things we lock within our heart,
Never given a chance to start.
If Einstein or Newton had held their tongue,
Like men of wisdom mute and dumb.

The fire burns within our eyes
Bright enough to light the skies
Yet under a bushel, hidden away
When somebody else's night could become day
Still we keep the truth inside
Words of healing too, we hide

There is but a moment
Before you are dead
And the world will not know
What you could have said