The heart knows what it wants
but has no control
and for every day
the knock it desires does not arrive
you fight the urge to pound your fist
on an empty chair;
pointless frustration
There is no bouquet of happiness
or framed photos of perfection
that can capture events
you conjure in your mind.
The dream of what could be
is colored chalk in the rain
Thundering reality rumbles
warning to not stray beyond the shelter
of the known.
Not unloveable
just unloved
each morning begins
with dim light and dim hope
slowly budding
until you forget the promises you made to yourself
to face reality
head-on, strong.
You forget and allow yourself to think that
Maybe this will be the day
it turns around
and you will find the flowers
you gave up for dead
have taken root
in the smallest patch of hope
in the world
