Hopes, Doubts, and Fork Pokes

Light flashes around my revolving heart that is as a calm lighthouse.

Their eyes, in the crowd, are as the ships riding tumbling waves.

Doubts died and were buried deep, I can visualize the imagery of their graves.

Hopes quicken, they bubble up suddenly, and are aroused.

Very deep down in the pit of my stomach, a hunger rumbles with a thunder and lightning strike.

Voice attempts to vocalize in the bellowing storm, but instead it just cracks like a splitting tree in a mic.

Boldly, she made my light freeze fast because she browsed the substance my cake layers with the gentle poke of her silver fork.