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.