Hope is a double edged sword.
Like finding an oasis in a mirage,
And filling your mouth with burning sand,
Choking on grit and blisters here,
While the waters you seek,
Are just over the next hill.
So much for endurance;
It isn’t for lack of trying,
Or wishing, or crying, or sighing,
Or gazing down empty roads for signs
That have never once appeared in 15 years,
Nor will again – not after this.
Chemistry is a weak glue,
For things that are precious,
Tangible, Irreplaceable, Unchangeable,
‘Bought if broken’, isn’t that the tag?
But only for commercial objects,
Not for priceless hearts, chipped and cracked.
Perhaps one might have Hope,
If hope were clearly encouraged;
Carefully gathered and poured into a receptacle
Like sun-baked jars or Pandora’s Box,
Waiting to stand the test of time;
Until undone by one’s own hand.
© Ruth P. – 2016
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