Clockwork Poem by Kewayne Wadley

The deepest grief I believe I've ever suffered was journeying through the extremes of true happiness.
To some extent I don't look at you as the same person.
Just because it's a thought of you doesn't mean I should be entertained by it, although it is a thought occurring inside of my own head.
To wait is to find hope.
Meanwhile hope journeys into the split road of faith.
At what point does metaphysics become alchemy.
The mark of an educated man scribbling on an enlightened woman.
The whom the how's and what not's
The true statement where knowing becomes understanding.
At these times anger misconstrues everything.
The simple wildness of the mind venturing into what the heart feels.
A lion seeking to devour the silhouette of where a lioness once stood.
Without color is it still considered prejudice.
A heartfelt contemplation which the mind deciphers a million different ways.
Sticks and stones swept under the fault of closed eyelids.
The deepest grief dug by expectation.
The best intentions made empty by the deepest grief.
Motorized hands starting anew once the clock strikes twelve: twelve.
Repeating the thoughts that often replay on an daily basis.
To wait is to find hope.
Meanwhile hope journeys into the split road of faith