Poetry Drawer: Hope by Connor Owen

hope

That class A indulgence.

That whisper on the ear.

That lifestruck babe.

That lovestuck grave.

 

This superfluous tear.

This frozen moment.

This dreadful climb.

This uplift dread.

 

Their stupid kneeling.

Their blinding light.

Their needless notes.

Their endless plight.

 

My oldest foe.

My fearsome trickster.

My toxic marshmallow.

My radioactive high.

 

Hope, I fear you.

 

 

Picture: villageofhopeuganda.com

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