11.01.2010

Hope

Hope

Good evening! A little poem I wrote last night.


Hope
looks like
shaking hands waiting and
veins ready to be invaded
by familiar needles held
by familiar hands.
Hallways, long and narrow,
lead to rooms of waiting bodies
longing to know,
and be healed.

Hope
feels like
a distracted mind,
awaiting numbers and counts
that were once meaningless.
The ringing means results are in
and I wonder
if the pleasant tone on the other end
is genuine or disguised.

Hope
is
getting dressed,
half-asleep, drinking coffee with quiet thoughts.
I greet the new day with anticipation,
believing in the possibility
that I am me again.

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