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Hope is a bastard
It’s barbaric thorns rip and shred
Screaming without a whisper
Every lead meanders to a frayed not
Scratching and scraping the numb
Drowning on the air
Kneeling as it command me to stand
Sadness withers in its face
Fear bathed in its beauty
Want shakes it’s head in derision
In the darkness it glimmers like a candle sprayed with wind
Always near but never close enough
In the eyes of the lost it cowers
whispers of never to be
Life’s favourite joke
always less than more
laughing manically at you as you crumble
at its feet on the floor
Copyright ©
Christopher Quigley
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