There is nothing left, nothing but the sound of steps.
I listen closely as you depart, but my hearing has been dulled.
A concrete solution to my present state of being would be speech.
Yet, the battle hymn inside my brain mutes my mouth’s usually smart & worldly tongue…
You ask, what do I wish for in these moments of gentle, not so gentle, yearning?
Relief. Nothing. But. Relief.
Not borne out of my life untainted by sadness, hope is my need for rejuvination, a constant point for which to strive and within to thrive; hope…something that which one day may come…for me, for you, and for all who bear burdens…the burdens of men, me and my women, and the children who must bear all after all of their fathers and mothers most agregious sins…we, the little one, bear all.
My love of hope self-sustains through transcience; a going forward, but stuck, peddling back, but feverishly fighting with every last breath to never be those which once brought us back from our strife in going forward-oh god! how can we escape thee?! how can we escape such past pasts and never knowing the way forward?! Oh that long way back. Moored up sea-green banks of rotting truth. We shall overcome.
To give up control of fear…to find action…inaction to find freedom…
oh! this…such a wish has moved within me a gentle deep desire.
I have hope, while I am waiting. I have peace while waiting for peace to come.
I have been between all the stuff of good and bad and sad and mad and loving, and I wish more than anything in the hopes that things will change. I wish in reverie to the god of murderous pleasantries and secrets kept long hidden and I wish in vain for my mother to come to her senses but I wish. I wish all the same. It has been said that this, this wishing will bring me to my glorious demise, an end fit for the ever happy joker admist his lyme green seas of foaming troubles, gagging at the mouth for something else to naw its ragged teeth upon.
Fear beats desire feats greets death proudly fear rules all.
I know the path to my freedom. I will take it. But I do not know how to open the door to it, and I worry that I will never find my key.
Hope my friends is no harbinger; it is not a constant wave of sudden unyielding revelations and oh such sweet relief unto eternal happiness. no.
Hope gives us safety & security in inaction; it guides us through and moors us to delusions of right verses wring good verses evil, must haves and those cannot live withouts. It is a traitor to our happiness. We must eleviate the looming pressure accompanying our fear!! Says hope, we must!! we must…we must…we must…we must…we must…
it is…nonetheless…a gentle guide, even in its rushes…
there will be many unexpected happenings in my future and all tied to the truth I bore out of hope…
Alone in its quest to comfort me, in its fear of inevitable change, and ever present reckoning from it eventual freedom, Hope lives on. It waits for me, smiling, presently waving me on, over to the other side.
Laura is a freelance writer hailing from Buffalo, NY. Having lived in places such as Russia, Africa, and Alaska, she loves truly original short fiction, poetry, and pretty much anything to do with fantasy and adventure in foreign lands. Hoping to one day soon publish her first novel, Laura spends her time not writing making independent films, acting & singing in theater, and enjoying all the delicious restaurants NYC has to offer. You can contact her for any and all of your writing needs at firstname.lastname@example.org and on Instagram