Another day, in the blast of an atmosphere, with its’ blender of thoughts and things
mixing in. Another day holding on to hope and cheer like a comet that is bound for t
sky. Another day that goes by, blistering, agonizing but holding to it. To hope with it’s
higher standards, and its’ grips. Yes, In the morning, it seems possible, mesmerizing and
almost real. Hope, the lasting goal of all.
It is there, like an unreachable goal. But it is always there in the morning. High and
mighty, attainable. As the day goes by, it seems to be getting out of sight, and then, like a
ghost it vanishes. Fainted whispers to hold on to it grab at you saying: you can do it. it is
there, you can reach it. Into the night when you wonder as every spirit fades away, there
is got to be something- a shadow, a breeze, a wind.
A new morning with its arrivals, brings it back again, blasting new. A cautious spirit that
refuses to go away. It is still there: never goes away.