I can’t deny how much I already feel this. But my focus
refuses direction, won’t be blinked into moistened clarity.
Muffled by a hum, just behind my ears. Whispering hushed tales of possibility.
Yet I dare not speak it, that it be spooked beyond reach and out of existence.
Where sums and vowels and rules form conditional language to soften
pending or lived disappointment.
This need not be: it is not knowledge, but fear. A shield that serves to muffle
the sound of hope, potential and hearts breathing deeply.
A pained and bruised notation to not value, until proven. Guaranteed.
But there is none to be had.
So, instead, I shall grasp it with hopeful hands,
breath life into it and give it a home in my heart where it may grow, or not:
unconditionally. Without expectation, into that which the ‘verse would have it be.
