A fragile wing, crumpled and crushed but still yet refusing to give up belief in flight
calling out against the hurricane and wind that torments relentlessly while maintaining an air of sophistication
despite every fiber being shredded, pulled apart like some sick twisted game that doesn't end even when the clock runs out
for there is no time limit on memories revived with every moment of wondering what might have been, every glimpse of maybes and what-ifs
and from a distance, the details blur and all that is left is a mistakenly blended flurry of color and life when upon closer inspection the masterpiece is tainted with waterlogged stains and splattered grey
as if this work of art has survived a great disaster, intact despite damage
but perhaps that's exactly what the story tells, perhaps...
the fragmented life of this wounded creature is not one lacking faith;
every stab dealt with the dull end of a knife in a back was not pain but knowledge, knowledge building foundations for happiness-
oh, to remember what happiness is, to be graced with its embrace again-
in simplest form of complex descriptions and unworded explanations,
all one could ever hope is that hope is more than a figment of overactive imaginations.
And hope, we shall.
