sometimes,
The time it takes
to curate a reality
Where
The eyes of a hostile reflection
Don't contribute to, but consume-
the moment's prison of littleness...
Is it not possible?
To escape eternity's hour's ceaselessness?
Hope,
is too short;

we perpetuate-
it takes shape.
we preform,
then placate.

Shimmering eyes gaze in silence
The performer coated in dazzling gems assumes the position
Their muscles tighten and their arms rise like sturdy branches
Her eyes ablaze with raging fear and excitement
The vast expanse of all the possibilities of the future in front of her
Anticipation rising like pure energy through her body
She hears her cue
And she leaps