What hope is this, my eager heart has found
And thirsts like tendrils arching toward the sun?
What fate awaits if I should hear the sound
Confirming ambiguity has run?

What hope is this, whose outstretched fingers cry
Like children’s tantrums grasping, wanting more?
What heart is mine, forgotten at a sigh
That retrospect has shown me this before?

What hope is this, that I have broken out
Of history’s repeating prison cell?
What selfishness has overcast my doubt?
I fear I fail to trust that time will tell.

To step away from my anxiety
Would help to strengthen all deserved to me.