Scatterbrainy

Clouds gathering,
Substance of life, real and imagined,
The feeling is the same.
It is not safety, because I resent that. And it isn't comfort.
I suppose it is the feeling thay I am doing things right
For once, this is the sensation?

Surrounded by possibility it's easy to hope
And that's it, really.
The feeling that you can confide in your hope.
When someone asks you: What do you contain?
and you answer: 'an unexploaded dream', knowing it is true.
It is right there, ready to blow when the time is right.
Insisting on its right to become.

As I do now.