To hope is to believe there’s something more
Than this; a higher state worth striving for
And, longed-for long enough, will come. But I
Have seen enough of life to hear the lie
In shrill assurances of better days
Ahead. No; Fate contrives a thousand ways
To pin us where we are, whatever we
May think or do, attempt, aspire to be.
To hope is to persuade ourselves that things
Could work out as we’d want them to. Truth brings
No comfort, merely vinegars the pain
And taints the smiling dawn with threat of rain.
All I have learned in years of wishful thought
Is that we’re Fortune’s chattels, cheaply bought
And sold upon her whim. So this is it:
Where, what and how, I cannot change one bit.
I’m sorry, Hope, it’s over. Though we tried
So hard, I know that I belong beside
Your sister, dull Acceptance; plain, it’s true,
But honest. You’ll see: I’ll get over you.
Feeling a bit Monday-ish this morning. But this too shall pass. N.