I know what it's like to fear in the dark, to believe my flaws are uniquely, shamefully pathetic beyond anyone's understanding, and if there is anyone out there who feels the same, know this: You are not alone, you were knit by the hand of God, and in the mangled wreckage of your earth-stained heart, God sees the person He has loved since the moment He gave you your soul, a person so lovely to Him He sent His Son so He could reunite with you.

Periwinkle mist

Over sullen sleepy hills

I wait for you here.

Flame-and-grapefruit sky

Over fields that shade their eyes

I wait for you here.

Sun-sick greening air

Over crooked cow'ring trails

I wait for you here.

Gravel-gray rainfall

 Over mute and haggard cliffs

 I wait for you here.

Blunt-edged silence clasps the world

I tuck my chin, wander home.

I submitted this poem in the "haiku sonnet" challenge, but the last two lines got messed up. This happens frequently on my entries, and I don't know why. Hopefully this version will be the way I had intended it originally.

Periwinkle mist

Over sullen sleepy hills

I wait for you here.

Flame-and-grapefruit sky

Over fields that shade their eyes

I wait for you here.

Sun-sick greening air

Over crooked cow'ring trails

I wait for you here.

Gravel-gray rainfall

Over mute and haggard cliffs

I wait for you here.

Blunt-edged silence clasps the world

I tuck my chin, wander home.

Hands made to grasp my finger

Find your toes

Grab a toy

Hands made for peek-a-boo games

Shy high fives

Angry fists

Hands made to scrawl your first name

Clutch a pencil

Catch a ball

Thirty two weeks before anyone holds you

Your hands grow

Tiny

Fragile

Too easy to cast away

Too hard to see when the world

Threatens to forget me

To leave me in the shadows

Clutching your hand.

My hands shake but I know

Your hands will shape the world

For one person or a million,

And I will know

It was worth the shadows

To stand on that day

Grasping your hand.

A flutter of colors own the sky.

Dainty bits of stained glass thrown across

Fields and parking lots like summer's confetti.

Something so delicate,

Nature's own blown glass,

Stands no chance against

The garish rush

Of city suburbs that mistake stained-glass wings

For brightly-colored bits of rubbish.

The bits of stained glass color that fall

Too near the noisy streets

Shatter against car windows

Their colors abandoned.

<p>I feel your presence invade our story, your roundish face hovering in the air like a reflection on a rippling lake. I can feel the slight guilt that hangs about you as you begin to read; you're procrastinating, trying to ignore whatever chores and duties call to you in your real world. You cannot know what I am feeling as your eyes and mind eagerly devour my life, the adventures I go through to claim the lovely Emmeline. From the moment I was written it was my duty to provide entertainment for anyone in your world who desired it, and I am glad you do not feel the resentment that emanates from me as you read.&amp;nbsp;</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I tried to be angry with you, but halfway through my story, I feel I am beginning to read yours. I watch your eyes light up over a well-written passage, feel the wistful envy that courses through you and the restless desire to create something beautiful of your own. Do you know you mime our actions sometimes? You twist your mouth, arch your eyebrow according to the book's description to see if the way it was written makes sense. It makes me smile, inside, where I am&amp;nbsp;not caught up in the actions&amp;nbsp;my story&amp;nbsp;dictates. You are a little annoyed with Emmeline, I can tell. You stare off into space halfway down a page with her on it, and I know you are rewriting her in your mind. I wonder what she'd look like if you had written her, how she would have talked and thought. I hope you'd make her like you.</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; It is the final chapter, and I can tell you are dissatisfied. I'm sorry, so sorry. The one thing I will ever be able to give you is this story, and I cannot give it the happy ending you were seeking. The words are there, I kiss and embrace Emmeline, but you doubt my sincerity, and you are right. You stare absently at the last page of the book, a little frustrated with the ending but mostly pleased by the story. Your hand&amp;nbsp;grasps the back leaf of the cover and I feel a twinge of panic as you begin to close the book. "I love you," I whisper, and I mean it. You pause for a moment, eyes wide, then shrug as the book closes and shuts me into darkness.</p><p>

</p>

<p>Climb just a&amp;nbsp;little bit higher-</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; but I might fall.</p><p>Onward just a&amp;nbsp;little bit farther-</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; but I might stumble.</p><p>Wait just a&amp;nbsp;little bit longer-</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; but it might be too late.</p><p>A little bit more of myself-</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; but&amp;nbsp;if I fail, it will all be lost.</p><p>Relinquishing reality, </p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; i'll keep the</p><p>Dream</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "i'd like to do it, maybe someday,</p><p>I don't know,&amp;nbsp;</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; but it would be neat if it</p><p>Could ever really happen."</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; simply stop trying,</p><p>Eradicate&amp;nbsp;the chances of&amp;nbsp;winning</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; along with the chances of losing</p><p>Leave the dream, the "someday,"</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; and is that enough?</p><p>Only dreaming,</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; never succeeding, never failing, merely</p><p>Surviving</p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; because the fear of losing</p><p>Envelopes </p><p>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; and pulls and</p><p>Smothers.</p>

She wanted it.

She worked for it.

She almost lost it

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; CLIMAX!

She achieved it.

Now she lives with it.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The end.