Long ago,
hope deflated.
Flattened by the
unrelenting weight of realities,
discouraged by rumors
of its impracticality,
It became an artistic
representation of itself,
a delicate spectacle
too insubstantial to stand.
Innately optimistic,
it hung unsung on the wall
beside seasons of strolling crowds,
awaiting someone whose
deliberate concentration of breaths
would fill it whole again.











Wonderful write. One.



37 old applause
