These lines on my face
convey much more
than words can say

In every laugh,
every tear it is written
that life is more than
some fluid interplay
of randomness

I've long felt trapped
by the ceiling,
have grown accustomed
to the cool indifference
of its glass

like a child I've fogged it over
with breath and etched a
message for some savior
to find

But that savior never came
and the hands, they continued so
persistently in their sweeping revolution
that now no time remains to succumb to sameness

The realization of a dream
appears when it is meant to,
always written in beautifully bittersweet form.
The glass so easily shatters.