Festival

Hands clenched into a weld
Smiles across the face of doubt
She leans across and steals my heart
As I wish her to do, feeling alive
As we were young, as we are
Her touch is felt in my soul
As the distance forbids it in
Reality, I feel gentle, comforted
I feel her smile, I would offer
One of my own

Rage dies as we speak
Longing for dreams
Accepting the facts
As I have, unalive
I no longer quest for the insane
A festival shall still be felt
And I count the days

© 1998, William R. Craft, Jr. All Rights Reserved