Unvoiced Thoughts

On a summer’s day, the glass sweats and weeps,

drips slide like secrets, in silence they creep.

A chill from within, like thoughts in my mind,

the weight of the words I can never unwind.

I trace with my finger the patterns they make,

a language of longing, of dreams I forsake.

Each droplet a wish, held too tightly, too long,

like songs that sit heavy where they don’t belong.

The condensation clings, a reminder that pain

is close to the surface, where love meets disdain.