The Hope

The Hope

The Hope

Poetry shouldn’t be forced

I’m not sure anything good comes from coercion

I’m so impeded, the words won’t come

They are there in my mind, in my soul

Yet there is this dark blockade

Anger, fatigue, self-doubt, irritation, impatience

These are the bricks in the wall


I so often wait around for inspiration

Inspiration is too fleeting, too fickle

I might be sitting on this rock for ages

Moss growing all around me

Growing on my face and eyes

While waiting to be mesmerized

The sun completes all its seasons


So I search for more, I look for reasons

Why all this is the way it is for me

Instead of resting along the trees

I wander off into the bramble

Thus the reason I mumble, ramble

Along the sidewalks of the mysterious plodding way


I still don’t know quite what to say


I still don’t know quite what to pray


Or how


I must go deeper than my brow

Maybe I must go higher

My skin has tired of these annoying briers

That daily scratch my skin

I wonder if my past, the lives of my kin

Have gone these overgrown life ways?


No, I cannot go backwards, that makes no sense at all

I set my eyes for the ambers of fall

Knowing there will be a winter


Christmas is coming

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