It can’t be touched or seen,
it has no color or smell.
It’s like a thirst or hunger, though this one can’t be fed.
In youth it may just be a fancy,
though it feels real just the same.
A desire that no words can capture,
a place where a longing still remains.
It’s like a floating bubble as it’s about to burst,
it’s fulfillment might just overwhelm you,
its disappearance even worse.
It’s what you desire,
a craving deep within,
some are stones, while others feathers, they weigh you down or give a lift.
We serve as landlords to these tenants; some move on, others die, yet the most familiar remain as friends in secret confidence behind the door others are unable to enter.