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My little soul, weak and timid
Desperate to succeed in growth
A desire to consist of the highest note,
To grab it though high above the limit.

My harsh physical checks it,
Aware of the short comings of time,
No longer desiring to add to the chime,
Is now static and twisted of bitter wit.

My little soul pleads and wishes,
To pretend its future is bright,
My harsh physical consumes the hope with might,
Physical realities causing all soul crashes.

Shimmering spirit and soulful song diminish
A vitality, which once held unyielding credit,
Has been vanquished, impossible, now for me to delight,
In battle, it soon must tire and finish.

Succumbing to a greying murky mist, alien to creation,
I screeh, soul beg and plead
Do what you must and lead
Escape this growing desperation...

This despairing has taught one to yearn,
To long to hear and to trust
All that is with life thrust,
My little soul now filled with hope begins to learn.