Tag Archives: Alliteration

Such Is Hope

Hope, like a spotlight constructed of stardust, shines down in the darkest of nights
keeping the light alive in life for thousands of downtrodden citizens of melancholy.
If only this stream of happy and bright could stay always–oh the moods it has raised,
like extreme first aid on the world’s wounds and angry scars.

Hope, unexpected like a burst of adrenaline coursing through our dried-up veins,
saving lives even if only barely… it keeps us here, and sometimes that’s all we need
until something, someone more solid can save us from our own destructive despair.

Hope, satiates us just enough so that we keep hoping, just barely grasping the light
at the end of the seemingly endless tunnel.

Caressing us–we locked in it’s arms–telling us it’ll all be okay
even when the most morbid emotions spill forth from our hearts,
it keeps us gazing toward its light, the radiance more worthy of stares
than any work of art.

Hope, the thinnest, but
strongest thread,
keeping us
hanging on
in life.



A monarch butterfly. A daydream.

Flutters around the edges of our consciousness, skimming the flowers about to bloom, hardly noticeable then all consuming. Our eyes glazing over, a subtle smile touching our lips. The original objective at hand forever lost in our minds, left to wander the twisting nerves alone. A monarch takes the place of the abdicated thought-that-must-not-be-so-important-after-all.

Vignetting our reality, morphing our perception and taking us to where we’d rather be, carrying us on its fragile wings. It lets us see what we want to see before it dies, thin glass wings shattered by the sheer weight of our burdens. In the fragments of the broken pieces, we see our desires but also ourselves. Our faces twisted by want-but-cannot-have, yet convinced that the shape of the cracked glass, the bent light, is what is making us ugly.

As we fall from our high, our butterfly in the sky, we are taken away from the promise land, that was never promised in the first place. We went in knowing it was a temporary release, relaxing for only a fraction of time, to be taken away at the clock’s next chime. But the temporary paradise that fogs up our eyes gives us a rush that can be duplicated in no other way than getting what we dreamed of.

Unfortunately, we cannot get what we dreamed of by dreaming on false butterflies.