I impetuously dived
into half open hands;
unaware of their frailty
but
entirely aware of the
uncertainty.
I struggled out of
the compulsion
but the dominance
of emotion
(illusion)
rendered me an
imprisoned fool.
In this vacant space
of
unfulfilled desire
waits my fragile *****,
but the shadows of fate
have conspired
against me.
Is it not my destiny
to shred my inadequacy
and have what I desire most?
In a state of mild lunacy
I try to regain my sanity-
fighting for a breath of air
to direct me to sincerity.
What frightens me most is
my adoration of
this affliction
caused by radiating
anticipation.
But I wait,
and I wait
and
I
w  a    i      t.

The art of hopefulness
is a beautiful thing.
I only long to be felt;
experienced;
not merely seen.