When we heard stories
Of those who yearned
To feel the void in their hearts
with experience
To drive away the cold
through design
Stories of those who knew not
what to do with their hands
How circumstance
became the author of who they were
And how they gave up the ghost while teetering on the precipice of possibility
They told us of the fearless
Who pranced
on cliffs with steep edges
The hopeful
Who clung to the almost with dead hands