The fears last dance

I saw hope on a bridge

watching a ship on the ridge of

Stillness and motion.

A presence of devotion.

Hope appears as a water edge on a photo of devastation in a dance with hesitation.

Looking as if they are embracing.

As if god sits within their spines.

Devotion draws waterlines,

to the wind blowing steady.

Sometimes it whines.

And there is a change coming,

and I think I'm not ready.

I don't have any lines.

I have a fear of not to becoming.

But actually, there is always a longing.

I saw shyness dancing together with fear,

revealing the most sincere emotion.

It was devotion.

I saw the truth in a beggars small uncontrolled motion.

It was devotion.

And as the night was at the surge and the clouds were turning blue,

out of the sea, the wolfes came through.

And Hope stumbled in the bright,

where dreams are occupied by the betrayed night

The Place where cautious wolfes grin.

Their Shriek is as bleak,

as their sightly imagination is deep.

To fall the concept of contempt is a duty

For the wolfes to devour

They have the beauty.

They have the power,

to discover, that Reality is just universally common sense as defence.

And if we tried,

And If we failed,

If hope wailed,

the ideal is not lost, but crossed

and existing in the space inbetween.

Where we warm ourselves and our odds on thoughts.

As the Winds are uplifting and gods.

Where possibility is drifting in the sea of existing.

This is the Place where hope always stripes.

There I'll save all of their lifes.

From the Edge of my Bed.

Fear flies and I go ahead