My Hand's Work, I Doubt
In the showing of the first tick, my anticipation grows
Though with the second, stems only regret
For no matter my efforts, satisfaction evades
A caption of you, is only slight through words
As if a camera, can do no justice
What am I through my puny embellished lines?
At first hopes of the product, were high
Though diminished they were, soon
For even a year before, had pessimism overwhelmed
As relinquished many pieces prior, I had
But through opinions, had my faith been partly restored
Albeit my doubt, remained golden
Sleep, did I deny much
Before the shut of my eyes, was my pen poised and ready
Though to the detriment of my heart, did my mind falter
As yearn did I, for diction
But to my core, was there none to be found
The coalesce of letters, lacked potency in description of you
Peruse had I, with great repetition
Though in my eyes, was there only dread
As time, was of no trouble
Contentment with my attempted art, was the struggle
Beauty it claimed much, to its end
But to measure to you, it failed
Maybe on its arrival, would the desired response be attained
To type out and send, I chose against myself
And soothing it was, until reclaim it I could no more
The recipient you became, whilst your reply I eluded
For a triumph, did I assume in admonishing you
Though a loss arrays only, as my sight refutes my hand's work
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