Hope

Isn't despair just the other side of hope? A hope burnt to black by life. But still the same.

Slices from my dreams

like broken shards of glass

are lying around my house

Why dont I pick them up?

Put them in a beautiful vase

like trophies from my past.

Next to it I shall keep

a jar filled to brim

by ashes from my hopes

burnt while still alive

in the forges of this life.

Drops of tears everyday

to keep their death fresh 

till this day

Memories from another life

faded but never wiped.

I dont believe in magic

but in chance.

their odours may rise again

infect me with illusions of the insane

drive me (forward) in a wave

like a phoenix from its grave.