It was such a sweet ecstasy To hold the evidence of desire in the palm of my hand. To taste hope almost forgotten once again on my lips. To know that I was the brief source of its fire. Yet now days go by with barely a word And my logic begins to wage war with my heart. Insecurity creeps in to rob me of this newest treasure Impatience burns me at the stake. Am I a fool to listen to their incessant whispers? Am I a fool if I do not heed them at all? If I want it too much, will it only run away? Logic crushes sweet hope, “Is that not your track record?” No, NO! I rage against saner arguments. The jester’s hat is mine with all its bright-colored glory. I will not give in so easily to despair When I have held the promise of joy in my hand.