Addicted to Hope

by Chavi

Hope is the thing with feathers
Which tickles you each morning
And tricks you to begin a day, every day
Grey and heavy with a view
Of a shattered landscape. Desolate
Black flowers growing over city ruins

Somewhere in the charred past
Black flowers grow on yellow stems
Sickly with the kiss of tomorrow
The echoes of their ghosts are
Only in the rising gray cloud. Hovering
Smelling of ash and a little bit of death

Just to pick one flower,
To treasure it in a vase of water
A reminder of what shouldn’t be
To hold it close, deep in the night
When all the lies you’ve told
Cannot desist from burying you

To shred it, tear it petal by petal
Crumble it into powder
And mix it with salt-water
Open your palm and a gray cloud rises
Smelling of ash. Falling
And the charred promises of hope

Now the only thing to hold when you sleep
Is the wide open light 0f the moon
And the next morning
The wings of hope will wake you
To visit the black flowers. Growing
In the dead again city

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