The Memory of Hope


My memory of time catches my eye around corners, forgotten in places where dust collects, where I found innocence.

Was I ever bereft of compassion? Or is it guile, just kids on a gymnasium floor throwing a sun-sized red ball, aiming for black boxes and for the kill. Are we still so cruel?

Hit hard and by surprise, I’m startled awake to find I’m still a child. With more future behind me than past, like the flavor of bubble gum, today never lasts.

Breathing thoughtlessly of my heart as it beats on, and on sympathy alone. I flee from fright as I fly away using only the wax wings of my will.

Hope becomes weary with age. Like a favorite pair of shoes, old and full of holes, bereft of usefulness. Yet my path is worn into their sole’s memory —

Now I’ve long forgotten my way. Yet those battered boots hold me and lead me safely home.


5 comments on “The Memory of Hope”

    1. I agree and I don’t feel like I’ve forgotten my way more like the way has forgotten me sometimes

    1. Sing! I love the way you read my poems. It’s always a surprise as to how you’ll respond and I respect your words so much I’m constantly appreciative of your support of my poetry. I hope to get a book out this year. I’m looking at publishers now and may have found one – all proceeds will go to the non profit organizations who sell it through Amazon or directly on their sites. It will be called The Art of Cancer. I had originally titled it The Hope Chest but decided it was too cheeky for a poetry book on such a weighty topic.

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