You and I are not dead yet,
I think I know it,
I know you do.
I see you in the minutiae
of the stars.

its all the same
from way down here,
a grand perception, a vision
of you at sunset flickering
without your flame.

Your call to arms is
a boy cries wolf.
I mold you into art
from nuts and bolts.

In conflict
you catch my eye
and then you’re gone.
Your coming is inconsistent,
different colors, different shades,
you're more than one.

I cannot ascertain the
direction from which they come,
left or right, above, below, I don't know
I only know when they come
when all of them come

all of you

you are more than one when all of you come

all of you

And each day you think it will get better
And each day you rip off a feather
A feather that helped you fly.
Once upon a time I was able to soar
Soar through the darkness and fly
Fly through the haze
but
Now it's pretty foggy
and this high plummets,
Plummets into a blurry daze.
Hurt by words,
the impact was too heavy.
I'm the survivor who made it
but your water broke my levee,
and I can't escape.
My wings don't work anymore.
All my feathers are gone.
I plucked them all
Indirectly, because of you
but, nonetheless, it happened
and I don't know what to do.

Hope.
Hope is like the air inside a balloon;
You only lose it
when you chose to let go.