Weary,Leary,and Wayward

In a world of recluse,
Where conversations are few,
Reflections are repetitive
And silence is louder than words,

I envision my future,
Leary of what awaits me.
With childlike insecurities,
And wayward possibilities
Longing for freedom,
Weary from struggling,
With the concept of failure.

Do I choose to wither,
Or blossom like springtime.
The essence of freedom
Exhilarates overwhelms,
 And captures my vivid imagination.

The dream,Or the dreamer,
And fine line between them,
That separate my desires,
From the infliction's,
He bestowed upon me.
Eleven years ago

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