These illusions and pitfalls along the way
in which my heart, so sure, unveils to stay
only to have to again prove my strength,
revive the beat from buried and scathed,

I hope again are changing
to sojourns not so painful.

In the aftermaths and in-betweens,
the shrapnel in me remains indelibly inked
and paroxysmally bleeds,
keeps me still from seeing
any heavenly reasoning.

Still, I must keep faithfully believing
in His thaumaturgic design of feelings,
love and all my deaths
in the pursuit of requitedness.

Again, I am clinging
as a raindrop to a moment inevitably fleeting.