Waiting to Be

Objects, and the Distance Between Them

There was a time when our dreams
Were just within reach
There was nothing that could not be accomplished
Nothing we could not attain
And all that stood between
What is and what could be
Was our own imagination

Now so many days have passed
And it can feel
Like all we have acquired
Is an emptiness that slowly grows
Fed by our desires
And the perception we have
That they cannot be met

Our hearts grow tired
And we are worn thin
Sleeping later and later each day
Looking out the window
And thinking only of opportunities missed
Rather than seeing
Those that still await

Bitterness
And resentment thrive
In fertile beds of broken promises
Nourished by doubt
And diminished expectations
As we see only what could have been
Ignoring what still could be

For I have learned
And am learning still
That opportunity abounds
In each and every…

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