Hope

And those times of hoping, hoping,

too fluid to remain within

compartments of the mind

trickle down to ground

there to be trodden on

by life’s sheer disdain.

But it is the month of May;

there’ll be no rain today

and consciousness degrees

a time of watering

from now until the summer

brings in the clouds and rain

to flood our hope filled fields

and make them be as if were not.

And if we pack and carry hope

there’ll be a weakening

and down to ground it will fall

and again be no more.

Yet and yet hope can’t be

a discarded entity

and it clings ever steadfastly

to all of the hopeful

until they too fall to ground

and be as if were not.

How stupid, how senseless,

but who can say hope does not

while alive fight to survive?