Fleeting, drowned in despair,
No clear vision what salvation could be,
Hands grasp blindly for air,
Obliterating a different kind,
Born of a calmer mind,
Still not grasping for something possible,
In the real'ty of your daily grind,
Denying still another, more useful,
Acknowledging what's real,
Seeing the potential of given paths,
Choosing by appeal.
Still no promise,
Life offers no such thing,
But hope for something that is possible,
You open the door for the unforeseen.