AN: This is one of five really old poems of mine that I stumbled across when I was moving.
You wait upon the shells of my existence,
For silence to give birth to truth.
You reach outwards with grasping hands and breath abate.
Hoping to hold onto the knowledge, just out of reach.
Your eyes seek for a faint glimmer in the despair of your mind.
Hands reach, grasping, seeking, knowing.
Eyes wide, chest frozen, you hold to what you need,
As you realize that in truth is the lie.