hope(less)
poem
spring 2005
sometimes i find hope to be like the old story about the princess and pea. hope hurts me in the morning fromthe ache of sleeping on it all night
how many times do i have to do this?
where is the payoff?
whose character am i building?
fragments of my mind swirl through the waste
and i am shredded like so many illegal documents
every ounce of energy exhausted by fruitless endeavors
and i surge through the sieve of attrition as though i never was or will be whole.
fighting my own infallible logic just to hold on to “what if”
and my soul splits in two with the desire to hurt and the desire to be hurt.
but even as i back away from the thing that hurts the most
still i reach for it as though i am addicted to the way it uses me.
if only i could kill that tiny seed of hope that holds me unmoving
the ache would disappear along with the expectation of change.
but instead i wait, anticipating a revival that i trust will never come.
Add your comment
You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.