Friedrich got me thinking - as I reach
for the impossible.
My hands tremble as I write.
My hope attacked - morning, noon, and night.
Those eyes I once loved - red like the fire
in which I stand.
Still it trembles - but I ink with this
right hand.
Its unsafe to write a poem when ached
in purpose, or a song that's sang in pain.
In a search for something higher,
the soul, never to blame.
Let the demons mock my weakness,
let the storm oppose my will.
Elegy's aren't created easy, but my heart
can climb uphill.
If I fall Lord, let it be forward, my eyes
fixed on the distance flame.
Better to die while reaching, than to live
untouched by aim.
Smith Shine Poetry 