All that’s left.


In fear and trembling, destiny’s road perishes.
With courage, horizons come to light.

Is this a question
you ask about hope?
A self-proclamation?

If you had asked me ten years ago, even sporadically scattered in between the months, my answer would have been emphatic: Hope! Rah!

This girl’s sunny disposition has gone hiding, become elusive, buried beneath wings and tears that never dry.  This hope one seeks, in the ransacked heart and poverty-stricken, is beyond the horizon. No rainbow slide can fulfill  such promises.

All that’s left -vacant field
hope disappears
your power absent -dirt mourned.
Life seems meaningless.

I am tired. Just a week ago, the daffodils woke me from a deep slumber. I had hid in a depressed body, unable to move. The garden lay dormant in my mind and its sliding into the abyss once again.

Damn shoreline! Even my speech has become reprehensible! Oh where should I lie to appease these demons. They scratch and claw at the soul’s door. I barricade them as they slip through the cracks. This is war!!!

As easy as it is to create rainbows
a ghostly cemetery presides.
What hope moans from the grave?

 

 

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