You would have robbed me of my hopes and dreams if I allowed it.
With doubts, that you would feel a thing.
But if the rose buds withered would you check the stems.
Only if emblazoned with gems, I’d imagine.
I guess, the root of it all lies beneath the surface.
You were certainly surface deep; purposely.
You burned our home to the
Ground, with this reckless demeanor.
Tossed into the crowd, ribbons
Of hurtful things, to cripple me.
Left me lonely, worn and stammering
On the battlefield.
With certainty, the damages outweigh
The fractures earnestly.
Yet here we stand.
Above all else I’m fruitful, as I multiply.
And I’m inclined to divide the pie like decimal,
At a fraction of our interaction.
That’ll sever the iceberg, shaving ice
Until it’s powder white.
No longer the captain of the ship, let the vessel sail.
Hope reflects an image of the times I’ve failed.
Hope is a ledge without the rope to hold.
It’s defying all the emotions, that were uncontrolled.
It’s a straight-lined edge to a secret place.
I guess that’s what it means when you latch on to faith.