The longest hours of the day
move like stone, a shared collection
of semi-ruined possibilities
that leave only doubt,
the future more contained, its roof lowered
in the longest hours of the day,
crestfallen cardboard, fragile as dust
with little chance for change save encrypted hope.
What is that refusal deep within
that lures us think 'what if?', 'maybe'
in the longest hours of the day
even as our hearts break open?
Perhaps we humans, illegal aliens on earth,
crave an ever-present sliver of hope
and fail to grasp the despair glimpsed
in the longest hours of the day.
For Open Link Monday but inspired a while ago by a list of words offered by Kenia Cris over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads.
in the longest hours of the day.
For Open Link Monday but inspired a while ago by a list of words offered by Kenia Cris over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads.
