A hope lost

Like a fine afternoon,
on a busy day.
Like a broken ankle,
when all you want
is to go out and play.

Never here,
but not quite there.
never away,
but rarely near.

There is more pleasure
in a game well lost,
More desire
in a hope thats not,
What comes easy
is taken for granted,
but what we bleed for,
forever enchanted.

I am your broken ankle,
your busy day.
Your cage of gold,
when you wish to fly away.
I never meant to shackle you,
forgive me if I do.
If I cannot reach out to you,
who can I talk to?

-Mike T., Untitled, circa 2003.