Hope is a fragile thing

I sat down to write a poem
Finding its measure wanting
And its rhythm trite
I end up here once again
Pondering this lack of sight

I find my interest waining
Not in writing
So much as life

Never having planned to come this far
I find myself forced
Made to contemplate a future
One I was certain would never come

I have all of the pieces but not the puzzle
All of the dreams but not the hopes
And the world fades out
But nothing yet fades in

On the verge of destruction
Waiting for the groundswell
A last minute effort
To give that last push

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