Poem: Trickling

There’s a trickle of it in there..

In that exhausted smile

Everyday chiseling at your patience

Working in what wreaks of revile

It’s trickling still..

In your tender will

Every night in languish

Aching for a dream to instill

A fickle vision of aspirations

The emptiness contesting ambition

A fragment of vigor holding a world of trial

A trickle of hope, not an apparition

The leaves are not infinitely falling

The roads are not infinitely swallowed in black

A hand will grasp yours

So long as yours is not infinitely aback



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