Of dreams recurring
and longings deterred,
a helpless quiet sigh escaped
fleeting and bare.

Could it be
a paradise void of bliss?
Can a sun weave ribbons of light
barren of warmth and life?

I wonder
is it deceit?

Reckless hunger,
hateful heedless lust;
how can a passion drive dreams
to crippled senseless satisfaction?

If perfection cannot be secured,
how do we tame
unbridled hopes?
Where do we find
an enough that is enough?
Where can we nurse
a burning desire that won't ever age?

If nothing is certain,
how will my heart learn to believe?

01:25pm
05/20/08
~djf

We are all in someways, dreamers.
None of us can deny that
we have been waiting for a love to keep us warm,
to wrap its fineness around our crude selves.

For what would we all be without it?

Pathetic creatures that we are
needing globus hopes to keep us afloat
the choking waters of reality.
We'd all be consumed by our vanities,
we'd all be always half-way there
if,
not for love itself.