HOPE

I do not know
what drags me to this place:
what soils my disdain
and drains away my hate.

The tight, hard, ball
encased in fear's embrace—
protected from all hope,
oblivious to faith...

Sequestered in some 'sordid way'
from this 'new' thing I know—
the world that's always solaced me;
the world that now may cease to be:
Or altered in some 'horrid' way—continue,
but without its flame!
Without the sauce of anarchy
to season my domain...

And what could cause such hope
to blossom here?

Denied essential nutriment—it flowered!
prayerful hand extent'.
Rebellious as the very ground from which it bust
to voice dissent;
and challenge all our cherished ways:

the 'pleasure' of scorn's repose...

I do not want, (nor do I seek)
this 'sunniness' of which I speak;
this optimistic 'trust', and 'hope', and 'love'—
(Which I abhor!)

Well-mired in such sweet despair,
I just awoke to find it there.
Without so much as one harsh sneer
to show me it was kind:

It's fucking with my mind!

HOPE!!!