I grasp so often for illusions
Phantoms born of hope
A touch of misery, certainly
I am told you are out there
That you wait till we find one another
But perhaps they are mistaken
I have searched
Desperately, at times
All in an attempt to discover you
A figment
A fragment, mayhaps
Of a wish long withered
Shriveled as fruit left too long
Hope will always struggle
When left abandoned
Lost and wandering
Yet finding no home
No place to reside
Bereft of warmth
So cold, near death
Struggling onward
Braving the solitude
Seeking that dim light
It must be beyond the next rise
And all the pretty lies
Unless it too is a ghost
A phantasm
Just a will-o-wisp in the distance
But, just a little father
You must be close
And we return to the pretty lies
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