I live on a lonely block
Hope and Delusion my only neighbors
They never talk to one another
Something about a falling out many millennia ago
So I, the conciliatory soul, am the go-between
And am making much progress
Sometimes they loan me sugar
All-too-willingly, it seems
But I gotta pay it back quick
Else they threaten all-nighters
Dissonant music at full volume
“Is it worth it?” I often ask aloud
They reply in unison, of course
And all of this life ahead
I stay here for you
Maybe your next step will be your last, but you don’t “get” to know beforehand. And instinct is absent.
The floor under your feet will tell you after the fact whether it was ever, at all, true.
And truth, it has been queried, “What is truth,” but I ask you, what is trust? What is trust?
Trust, kept buoyed by hope, took forever to fall away, and these believing eyes with it.
Expectation is only of the coming eve’ and the promise of exasperated sleep, and I praised it more than once.
One morning revealed the night had stolen the vestiges of trust, breaking free all that hope bound.
The only evidence of either, some sense of un-nameable shock. Something’d been there, but what?
Then life’s replaying of horror: The all that was and the all that’s gone. Each breath, each day, each night.
Disallowed to feel; love or lust or hope or trust, this is how I feel.
Discouraged to want; kindness, presence, endless laughter, this is what I want.
Disinclined to think; hope is dead, no heart, all head, that’s no way to think. 
It would be as if some wild mass
One that’d further made me joyous
Crashed into me
Then died
Once God’s plan’d
Crashed into it
And I, now differently affected
Was forced to continue
Unmoved
As if
I feel frail
Fragile
Unfit for coffee’s courage
Its mystic effect on my morning
On my fear
I feel undone
Unrecognizable
As if in some other’s skin
Were it not for my willfulness
I would fear
What is it you Hope?
The steps of your Days, designed?
The Epic, real?
LisaRosier.com 