With My Last Drop of Hope

These days I’m finding it so hard to live,
my heart empties Hope like sand from a sieve.
The only things that remain in its place
are pain and regret, since I’ve lost my race
with the man who I’ve become, dark and blue.
I look in the mirror and say “Who’re you?”
He’s not the man with confidence and spark,
who’d take on the big guys, just for a lark.
Though deep down inside, I never felt right,
worthy or good enough for the spotlight.
But always I held out Hope for my dreams,
some called obsessions, others foolish schemes.
All these losses have overcome this heart,
which always fought back, past dart after dart,
until these last blows tore it to pieces.
So now I live in a black near-ceaseless.
All day I sit in the dark much too much,
not answering calls or even the touch
of people who love me, present and past.
They don’t know this poem might be my last.
Can’t find Hope in a place with no bottom;
can’t find light when the blues say “We got him.”
So I sit in front of this screen glowing,
with its cursor blinking, my mind unknowing,
using small Hope without reason, just rhyme.
Another drop wasted. Maybe next time.

If Hope springs eternal, for some reason,
let’s pray I’ll find mine come Christmas season.

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2 thoughts on “With My Last Drop of Hope

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