The Curse of Hope

Hope is insidious in its waning,
lingering sweet like a sin,
an unspoken prayer
that betrays reason
in defiance of looming inevitability
while offering nothing more
than a lengthening of the hours
of a lonely vigil.



It is that resonant silence,
this unsettling sense
of what is to come,
the internal roar
held still by inertia,
as I quietly come undone;
it is that moment
of clarification
just before the storm,
the lie of peace,
the long deep breath,
the hope of the unborn;
it is the veil thinned
and the Muse’s kiss,
the raven’s siren song,
the restless sky
and the beat of time
that holds my soul aloft,
though heavy I am
against the wind,
my heart rooted in earth.