Bland
It feels like defeat
Built up, to let down
A dream is complete
But, joy wasn’t found
My senses disperse
I become colorblind
Not what I rehearsed
Before, in my mind
I pray and conspire
I cling to the hope
I tend to the fire
But only get smoke
The waves are on mute
The salt fails to burn
Disappointment, acute
It pains to discern
It’s tragic, to see
Expectations peak
Sprawled before me
But senses are weak
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2019
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