Lady Cynical

Within the heart of each, a dream resides
that burns brighter with each passing day;
Yearning to escape.
Craving to prosper.
Itching to become,
a reality.
A dream of surpassing allure
for it’s promise in complete happiness
-- for all time -- unending time --
of which each heart will aspire in resolute fortitude,
to have it become.
But to no avail; rarely does this dream become.
Instead, it grows and festers and tears away at the goodness
becoming jaded:
Dancing along, just barely out of reach,
tantalizing in its closeness,
sickening in its closeness.
A clash of realities; a nasty war for fates,
where the Lady Fate is smiling at all her elaborate ironies,
and contradictions at it’s best and worst.
Onward and upward, harder and harder
-- fifty miles in the snow, uphill both ways --
aspiring with resolute fortitude to become
the reality of my dreams,
not the reality of my reality;
A pitiful reality full of pain, fear, and confusion
that, with each passing day, becomes horribly acceptable.
Dreams of the youthful me,
dashed against the rocks of a future
far too sharp to keep a capable toehold
on my hopes for tomorrow.
Meet me: Lady Cynical.