Hope

Old, battle-worn as I am,
Still I can get a glow,
Hopped up by hope,
Intoxicated by belief
That something might
Go right this time.

You’d think I’d know

Life will not turn out
Quite as I have hoped;
I start late,
Overestimate resources,
Misread motivations,
Depend on frail friends,

Eat disappointment for dessert.

But I will not have myself
Be hopeless;
I won’t bawl, or mope forlorn,
A saddened cynic
With meager expectations
And zero optimism.

My hope will spring eternal;

And my argument,
My ratiocination:
Without hope
I’d be like the walking dead,
I’d be nothing,
I’d never have been born at all.

©2004 John I. Blair

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