A Damning Balance

A child with an open palm,
Trying to catch slivers
Of silver smoke, thinking
Softly of salvation
Finding only
Confusion

                     Disarray

Help

          Disorder

He grasps at his life, he 
Finds fate to be 
Fleeting, he
Loathes temptation, but he
Succumbs to greed
He

                     Yearns

To

       Please

The child grows, the smoke
Lingers, sliding still
Through slipping fingers
His destiny, unveiled
Fruitless

                     Yet

Still

         Relentless