by Chris Hibbard
I might have been an angel, but I chose instead to ride the tides of night. I might have been a candle, but I chose to absorb the light. I might have been the one to finally heal the pain of heartache, I might have found the way to change the path that our fate takes. I might have changed so many things, but doves can’t soar on broken wings.
I might have been your heaven, but instead I found a hell of my own making. I might have been a diamond, but without adequate pressure, the coal was left to rot where it fell. I might have found forever and I could have learned the past; I might have found the secret to making happiness last. Instead I found a battle that no soul could ever win, though it hurts to admit that I finally gave in. I might have changed so many things, but doves can’t fly on broken wings.
You might have found in me the answers to your dreams. You might have ended with me your search for better things. You might have convinced the others, but it was harder convincing me, and now we can’t drown out the mourning ballad that both our souls will sing. I might have altered the fate of things, but angelic bells will never rings. This heart can’t survive on shattered dreams, and doves can’t soar on broken wings.