There are things that we so desire;
Fragments of once could be’s left sizzling next to the wake of an open fire
A sore and unruly rest for those who bare no need to transpose,
A romantics lust for love is as sheer as the daydreamers dream I suppose.
We don’t confide the things that yearn in the hollowed depths of our soul;
That in which age and mature vastly inside us, for that they’ll never know-
And when given the chance one might never give in-
Because vulnerability is best when it’s bared in hidden.
You can look in the eyes of another and see their truth revealed;
Their words yet still cascade fabrication of a world never revealed
We hide, we squander, in life’s most precious things,
But behind our synthetic candor; we all know why the caged bird sings
~Breanna Womble
2:01am
Sleepless Nights are the poet's prime time
