Hope Is For Suckers

Empty doorways crowd with all the ghosts
Of those who haven’t passed through
The expected collect upon the jamb
As so many translucent leaves
The soft crinkling whispers
Become lodged in your brain
Familiar voices distant, faint, tantalizing
The flutter of silent, powdered wings
Trembling with vague, faint hope.

Was there really expectation though
Or just the dream of it
Laying soap bubble film over eyes
Iridescent sheen glazing, bending
Distorting small thoughts
Giant big yet stretched cartoon thin
Spindle legged, fragile
Bursting into nothing more than stinging droplets
With even a soft, sad breath.

No matter how long you stare
The chair will stay empty
Simply because there wasn’t anyone to fill it
Just the flat, flickering movie image
Of someone you thought just might
Because you are just a twisted shape of longing
Because the ragged edges of romance
Are all that’s left to cling to
Because you once again fool yourself
Pretending hope isn’t something just for suckers.


4 Responses to “Hope Is For Suckers”

  1. the count Says:

    700+ vs 20+

  2. the count Says:

    I think I must have bad taste…
    …because the pieces I hate are the ones best loved.

    A great chef never cooks only his faves. Elvis must play stuff he’d rather not.

    I am this too.

  3. suckers 4 likkin’

  4. arthur swillbucket gambleshaft Says:

    I have this small victory. I can say for once that I’m genuinely ok with not writing. It will come back, and there will be new poems and stories again. It has taken years for me to be able to say this without feeling like some kind of fraud. I am A WRITER, it’s what I do.

    remember this
    if so many sing your praises, why not hum a little hum with them?

    You tear a small hole in the smothering dark cloak. Work it a bit more and soon a light from the outer world will invite you to rip the thing to shreds so others can rejoice in your presence.

    While you wait for more words, cut grass with tweezers. Milk an orange. Put your shoes on the wrong feet.

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