the audacity of hope by patrick l. bertlein

I live in a world of dreams

where life fades into the horizon

a setting sun of failures and accomplishments

and never quite enough gets done

so I sit here in astonishment

of all that has gone wrong

If only my thoughts that hasten

would simply be complacent

and wander off to other worlds

to bother other humans

I sit childishly swatting at mosquitoes

and once again losing the words

It seems that at times is an inspiration

a flicker of time that is lost like love

on hot days when sleep is a dream

and the heart is overcome with frustration

if only I could hold onto the moment

and stretch it out to the corners of the earth

make it a blanket for the world to find warmth

my tears cleansing your holy feet


Too much I want from this life

from this world, from my friends

and all my loved ones
the preciousness of existence

 is a reflection of this

knowing how special these seconds we have

and how soon they will be gone

Oh how can I ignore the hands of time?

as the sand slowly drips to the ground

like the faucet I could not fix


The fragility of these thoughts

and how they overcome my senses

sends me into a spiral

that far surpasses all defenses

and all the while I stand witness

to life and the worlds trespasses

Violated my voice will be victorious

and explore this silence
or surely fall prey to the worse madness

that of a world not perceived by vision
nor spoken of by tongue

the blackest imaginable sun

As the flickering flame lashes
like the snake seeking its scent
to recognize where it is at
and what surrounds the body
all hope is dried kindle
and as this day will surely dwindle

I recognize the dusks twinkle

and reside amongst a pale sky
awaiting the terror of the mind
the only thing sure to come
taunting my present self

with what shall surely become

Fatigue slowly drains my body

and soon I will be interrupted

with the chitter chatter of others

not knowing that I have to listen

so the squirrel will be quiet

a subconscious has its message

and I am only hear to listen

This is worse than a puppet

as the scissors are in my fingers

perhaps upon the glorious dawn
I shall hear the sound of the trumpet

and tomorrow find the old hollow

in which life once existed

until than I can not be triumphant

for this day has once again been conquered

by the possibilities dwindling
as they greet the nights twinkling

watching and laughing eyes