Unrealized

There’s a kind of beauty that haunts us—not because we’ve held it, but because we haven’t.

That’s the heart behind my lyrics/poem Unknown and Unrealized, and it’s a theme I’ve wrestled with for years and I first encountered it when studying the English Romantic Poets as an English major at the University of Alabama in 1982.. It's the ache of the “almost,” the shimmer of possibility that never settles into reality. It’s a space full of longing, and strangely… full of light.

This isn't a new idea. It’s one that poets and artists have danced with for centuries.

The Daffodils and the Inward Eye

For me, it originated with Wordsworth’s I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, especially that final image of daffodils “flashing upon that inward eye.” There’s something sacred about the way beauty lodges deep in our inner world. For introverts like me, this inward life is rich and powerful—sometimes more alive than the outer one. That poem reminds me that imagination and memory are not mere shadows; they’re real, vibrant sanctuaries.

But there’s also tension there. Because what lives in the inward eye is often what we’ve never fully grasped—the could-have-beens, the unspoken moments, the dreams just beyond reach.

The Urn and the Unravished

John Keats's Ode on a Grecian Urn expanded that tension even more. He paints a picture of eternal beauty—lovers frozen in a perfect moment, never fading, but also never fulfilled. The line “Beauty is truth, truth beauty” is less of a neat answer and more of a haunting mystery. What is real? What is lasting? And what do we lose when perfection stays out of time’s reach?

For me, the urn has always symbolized what I’ve called the unravished bride—that which is beautiful precisely because it remains untouched. The touch is almost there... but the moment you possess it, something dissolves. “To ravish the bride actually eliminates the beauty.” It’s a strange and sacred restraint.

We see this in art, in relationships, in longing. It’s not just romantic—it’s existential. And that’s where the soulfight begins.

Back in late 2023, my friend Matthew Forester shared a song by The Revivalists called Soulfight, and it haunted me. I couldn’t shake it. It became the soundtrack to this deep interior wrestling. The chorus echoes the very themes Keats and Wordsworth explored:

So I'm gonna stand here by your fire
'Cause it's a cold one tonight
I'm taking care of soulfight
And you're the reason why...

These lyrics don’t offer answers. They simply stand in the fire. That’s what the soulfight is: the struggle between longing and letting go, between desire and contentment, between what we dream of and what we’re given. It’s the battle to be grateful in the “no,” to find beauty in absence.

And that’s where Unknown and Unrealized came from. I wrote a few versions of the poem between 2023 and still tweak it now and then... my catalogue of poetry is always being edited.

Unrealized

Verse 1
Close enough for words to form,
But silence stays, just like a storm,
Whispers in the quiet air,
Things that could have been but won’t be there.

The opening lines invite you into that suspended space—where something could start but doesn’t. A pause pregnant with potential. Like a door that stays shut, though you can hear music on the other side.

A look, a touch, a flash of gold,
Daffodils in dreams untold,
A thousand futures we won’t know,
But they light up the soul, they glow.

This is my ode to Wordsworth—the flashing daffodils of the mind. The beauty that wasn’t lived but somehow still matters. These imagined futures light us up. They shape us, even if they never breathe in the real world. Not having something and still being able to smile... to me that is a contentment that helps people out of darkness and depression. Can you fall down at the last second, lose the race, and smile? A lot like The Myth of Sisyphus.

Chorus
In the unknown, in the unrealized,
There’s freedom where we fantasize,
A dance of dreams that never land,
A love that we don't understand.
In the space where we don’t belong,
There’s heartache but it’s still a song,
It’s where the might-have-beens all hide,
In the unknown and unrealized.

The chorus is the confession. Fantasies offer freedom—but also pain. We build sanctuaries in our minds, but they often echo. Still, it’s a song. That’s the key for me: even longing can become music. I sometimes get lost in the rabbit hole of how my life would be different if certain things did not happen. It's therapy if you know contentment, it's torture if it leaves you "Weltschmerz (German)"...literally “world-pain.”

Verse 2
Like the last leaf hangin' on,
We ache for what is never gone,
Frozen in a sweet goodbye,
Like Agape watching from the sky.

The image here is of love that lingers beyond loss. Even when something is gone in reality, it lives on in spirit. I changed God to “Agape” as a subtle reference to divine love—a watchful, patient presence that holds space for our aching hearts. Sometimes we use the word "God" so flippantly, but He is the Father, He is Love!

Cleopatra, Aphrodite laugh,
But we hold tight to the path,
Two lanes runnin' side by side,
Are they the same? We wonder why.

Lesser loves- Philos and Eros - The myths laugh because they know how many of us get caught in the allure of beauty or destiny. We walk parallel lives, wondering if they’ll ever intersect. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they were never meant to.

Bridge
If I’m honest, I wanna know,
The questions that I never show,
The answers scared to find the light,
It’s a soulfight, yeah, a soulfight.

This is the moment of raw admission. I want to know—why things didn’t happen, why some longings stay unmet. But I’m also afraid of those answers. The soulfight is standing in that unresolved space and choosing not to let it steal your joy. There is also a danger here- there are dangerous questions and decisions that we know we shouldn't go there. We rarely dip to those levels of conversation....

As I look back on this song, I see a thread connecting all these voices—Keats, Wordsworth, Thornton Wilder, the Revivalists, and even my own. They’re all trying to name the same truth: that there is beauty in what is unfulfilled. There is power in restraint. There is art in longing.

And sometimes, just naming that ache is enough.

So here’s to the unravished opportunites, the silent urns, the daffodils on the inward eye. Here’s to the might-have-beens, still glowing on the edges of our lives.

Even if we never hold them, they still make us more human.
Even if we never touch them, they still give us songs to sing.

And if we find contentment in what God has given us, we can actually smile in longing and loss.

Philippians 4:11–13 (ESV)
"Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

You can hear the song version here: Unrealized