Hail Failure

Exasperated,
I trash it.
One last grasp at ashes,
before I relax,
and make a final pass,
with a past’s worth of practice.
“But what of all the cracks?”
You may ask yourself.
See, without the waste basket,
erased from eye,
by the piling high missed tries,
and adolescent battle cries,
we’d be still dipping feet,
for the first time.
Our very essence, less defined.