we
do not know that which will arise
we expect greatness or doom
we anticipate love or death
our hope does dare to raise its head
but not to circumspect reflection
this, some foolish appetite then action
lifting hope and dream to be dashed
on rocks as breakers thinking that they,
no more substantial than air, will live
moments beyond their foolish attempt
tossing their souls and strength in waves
and waves again that will not cease
yet in not ceasing neither know they success
trying with aspect grim to throw meaningless
lives, if life a wave does possess, on rocks
all hope of life beyond their cold
but we who daily reflect on
dreams
are guilty of foolish ambition
when this condition is meted with
measured brevity and greatness
we fight to exist and breathe and have
and play and look and love
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yet
in moments of honesty we see
veracity shames our intent as we grope
more for more than meaning but for
greatness knowing that we batter
and fist this fight to be more
than flight but to include intent
but who are we as we scream or beg,
or cry, or lacking affect
merely wonder why this thing,
this life vest of vapor, holds us
momentarily above this correct assessment
that we do not live if ever we die
but we not only hold our breath
we also hold our will and want
hoping when we know that hope
exists no more than do we as we slowly sink
wanting to feel fond grip on our flesh
but rather there is icy slowness
and lack
as descent is conscripted by loss
to define our empty search for more
than we see
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