There is a place between the now and not yet,
O'er and above our deepest hope,
Regret and despair share that space,
The place where dreams can spring forth or shrink back,
Under the mantle of your Deepest Secret,
Ripping apart the fabric of the soul,
Evermore the simmering angst of never holding, or cradling, that elusive goal.
Copyright © 2014 Keith James Sinclair