Unsure if it’s expectation or hope
The heart lies confused
Waiting for it’s succour
Preparing for the arrival
Like an arid abandoned desert
That craves for a drop of water
This barren fist size muscle
Wants to feel another of it’s kind
Once abandoned in a world so harsh
Cries out night and day for an ear
The seasons walk in and out
But the dry piece of flesh intact.
Picked by a few and poked by others
The hope that rose was vividly false
But the only joy attained at times
Was due to the false hopes that appeared.
Bruised, battered, discarded and devastated
Vows to become one with the sand
Digs an enormous fist sized grave
Jumps inside and ceases to hope.