Do not speak to me of hope
For during the evening of discord,
I have lost friends and families and foes
I stood on the morn
By the sea shore
Welcoming the sun
Thinking at last here it comes
Borne on the waves of the sea
To give me wings to sup at the table of the gods
But alas, it was fermented faeces and the fear of disease
That drove me staggering back
Choking on disgust and my own vomit

Where thus is hope
That should keep the flames alight
Burning fierce while the mid-june rains
Drops buckets soaking cloth and skin to bone

What is this hope
That escapes your lips so easily
I have searched for it in darkest night with an incandescent torch
I have sought it in brightest day
I have looked among the proletariat
And inquired of it from the bourgeoisie
It was not to be found with the highlifes nor with the lowlifes

But then in the borrows of the little things
In the nest of the high things
Under the grass and between the eaves
I heard a murmuring that was not of man
That spoke to the spirit in tongues
Not perceived by the ear
But heard in the mind
Of glad tidings
Of great and good
Of the breaking morn
That brings with it the promise of HOPE

2:00am 26/08/2011

One thought on “HOPE

  1. i will be the first to buy……….
    a lot to read on the site…….
    you are really doing a great work here.
    how come we still have boring story books around……
    your piece are all interesting.

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