Sweet Night Dark Dreams

I can sing song about hope
and bring you word of peace
but none of it will mean anything
as long as my heart hasn't felt love.

Left here wanting
and needing hope
I'm here with my heart broke open
being cut by sincerity
and my lack of faith,
just knowing my inability to trust
will be my downfall
as I hope for you here.

Shadows cast upon your waking mind
where the light and dark dance
and make love over this vista.
Brilliant and vibrant colors
soon swallowed
by the explosion of fear and doubt
that plague the waking mind
as we attempt to connect
over this chasm.

Is this all we have left?
This fragile state of being,
mere slivers of hope
daring to stand against the night?
What life is this?
What hope?
Who dares to speak into the night of such things?
Were the dawn not so far
could we hope for hope?
Dare to believe in the impossible
that miracles are true
and that hope is not just an illusion?

Broad strokes of red paint
make the outline of your hope.
Every fragrant fragment casting about
reminding me of Christmas morning,
just from years ago.
When presents meant something
and hope could learn to fly so easily,
before it was replaced with automated thought
and these mechanically empirical responses.

For me to decide again
would mean to let my soul bleed again
and to cast off into this darkness,
wearing hope as a disguise of dignity,
that I might hide my frayed soul
and all its unkempt mask.
Nothing is more brilliant
than hiding in plain sight,
so here I am.

What more is there to say?
You've only seen me for a few moments
but every decision you ever made
was instantaneously made,
and you want to talk now.

I'm not sure what there is to say.
We can have a conversation
and a break for the month of May
but what of this?
What of an option?
Something other then a vague display?

I'm not sure.
I just lack the coherency to make words
or just to make myself, to make you
or any of this just work.

Right now there isn't much left,
the house is burning
and everything left was already spent.
All the will remain is me.

I'm not sure what you wanted to hear
or what would satisfy your mind
but truth is truth
and there isn't much left but that.

Which is in and of itself a useless effort
because we never could define truth
in a way to make you happy.
Sigh.

Call me Pollyanna or simply a loon
but there has to be some hope left
with all that remains.
Pale lunar light casting about,
gentle reflections of a harsh reality,
if this can be true
then there has to be hope that remains.

Hope, faith and love.
The chief of which must be love
to temper the pain in my heart
into an object of use
and to dissuade the fear
which encapsulates my life.

Shadow lies holding truths
to potent for life.
All we have is this simulacrum
and hope for hope.
Fiction being what you don't want to hear
and reality being the pain,
the living organic pain
shifting and daring,
just daring you to move.