Creation

Creation

The irony and cruel reality
of blossoming and forging something new.
So delicate and vulnerable, seen
equally sublime to what is now pursued.

The journey and the destination, both
worthwhile at the end? But bitter still
the journey - leaves the traveller aloft and cold.
My eyes are shrouded, I am unfulfilled.

Fresh sprigs of hope do tenderly arise
from time to time, but they wilt and wither.
A taut rope am I, pulled away too many times
in vast directions - too many to consider.

And then I wonder with myself alone,
in timid, quiet voice - am I to be
beloved at all? Or scoffed at and disowned?
"I'd do my best for her!" None listen as I plead.

So I search and search, desperate and depressed,
My heart torn open wide, none do receive.
I offer but my truest love - no less!
No other heart seems willing to believe.