I find myself hoping,
Awash in a sense of my own wrongs.
And yet, that is not how I see them.
Because what I speak is true, utterly.
And I am a fool for thinking all things can be as one;
As equal in the night as they are in the day.
For one, and for two, it can never be the same.
A wish, a hello, a merry – maybe it’s too much.
Maybe it is not at the forefront.
I try to believe, and I try to think;
Understand where the difference is, link to link.
In what is and what isn’t.
In what might be and what mightn’t.
Is there really any difference?
Am I not deserving, not strong.
Rotting in pitiful servitude where I belong.
I don’t beg, and I don’t ask.
I sit, and await the next.
Mind fading towards the day in which there will not be.
Strong – maybe not so much then…