Only-a-Sound

With a face bare, Seemingly concentrating, solid stone, I use small clumsy fingers, Hoping to find a smile I can call my own. In my mind there are doubts, One for each small finger, on a single hand, One for the look of a down turned face, One that says the result might hurt, One that says the move is a disgrace, One for the ways you profess, One for my mind in its distress. The other battles back with its ideals. A face set alive even for a second with a simple smile, Some movement I haven't seen in a while. A voice that let's my mind whirl, The laugh that causes my lips to curl, And a hope that you don't mind. Then a Heart