The Will Poem by Dean Meredith

The hand hovers
With purpose
And power unseen
There is uncertainty
And seeming imperfection
Not knowing
What this or that
May or may not look like
From the all important
From the all omnipotent
With tautologies galore
Those wayward things
We love or hate
Instinctively being
One descriptor
And why must it be so
When options exist
Lovely as they are
Sometimes failing to be seen
And yet the doubt
Almost always prevailing
The weak – us weaklings
How we clutch
From raw instinct
The will to live
Predominating all
And so it should