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?
Will you be there for me?
You will be there for me.
Will you know what to say?
You will know what to say.
Will you Listen to me?
With your ear to my heart.
In the dark, what of that?
You will reflect my light.
When I hope, may we meet?
You are Hope embodied.
I don’t discount them
Those Days were important days
When I hoped with Hope
I’m calling this poem, ‘How to Give Up Hope’
For four Novembers, I have been wishing for words to write it
They have escaped me
Forgive me, though I cannot forgive myself
I have no wisdom-filled ink
Except to write, be careful of virtue, it may enslave you
Tie you to the table and leave you starving, Hope
For this reason, you must
Give up, Hope
I look at this skin
I see it, I see hope
Splotchy, yellow-blue at times
Like the shades of a bruise
Slow-moving
At the pace of a lizard’s cool blood
Sometimes
Yet always
Legs to carry it and a thick exterior
To protect it
Should it pain me or try to run
Is all I know to do
Nearly all I beheld seemed as an exhibit
You looked like proof to my skeptic’s eye
The evidence for hope
The verdict guilty of love
Because in this heart
Learning’s long since been arrested,
Summer’s unending
Therefore in this skin
Understanding’s never quite conceded,
Winter’s arriving