One hundred times,
have I now been here,
for moments found free,
for thoughts written drear.
In hope my words given,
for more words returned,
yet as wounds bleed red,
did I seek praise unearned.
A slow drip slowly fading,
the nature of hope scorned,
left by I for another,
those thoughts left forlorn.
And yet returning for return,
each instance do I return
my ideas offered up,
as never have I learned.
So now must I complete
another entry dear,
may here find my heart,
words my heart hope hear.
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