A hopeless sense of the greater known
A wistful dream, a passing flicker
Of days to come, to be just for thine own.
Longing of a higher density
A heart shudder so loud and with so much more propensity.
To be what they're looking for.
Little rhymes and soothing happenstance;
they aren't really what they seem.
In all reality of a dream,
silence can be a harsh truth.
A lonely heart waits for a fragile awakening
and sits patiently while
secret silent serenades sweetly are supped to starving ears.
If there are enough of one letter to go around,
does that make it artistic,
and even so; who will understand the bold statement?
Ever so sweetly reject me,
and look into more daunting eyes.
Please tell me that I'm more than just unflavored
because I want to take part in the deep breathing battle.
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