Seeing Is Believing
I.
In the quiet dusk of dreams untold,
Lies a whisper, a tale, in shadows bold.
It moves through hearts, unseen, unheard,
A secret unspoken, a half-formed word.
Promises dance in the realm of air,
Fingers reaching, grasping at prayers.
"Just wait," they say, "soon it will be—"
But still I stand, blind and empty.
Faith, they claim, is the key to trust,
Yet trust is fragile, worn by dust.
How can I believe in things unseen,
When all I’ve touched are the cracks in between?
I want to know, to hold, to feel—
Not just the vision, but the real.
And so I wait, and doubt, and sigh,
Until I see it with my own eye.



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