Accidental Hope

a poem about hope

A trickle of water from a roaring sea
The tempest anything but still will be
The nor’easter blankets the land with cold
A thought skirts by to brief to hold
Anxious as the coming day
The memories already starts to play
The path unclear, clouded by doubt
Frustration builds to angry shout
Then still as the dead, the soul will be
Feeling all, but none as me
Fragments many, none as whole
Feeling every minute less bold
Unfinished all my dreams and hopes
Seen as past from the hangman’s ropes
If there is indeed a spirit
Perhaps, in death, the soul may near it
Without the death by self as one
My options are to await the sun
And hope that as I lie to pray
With clarity I will see the coming day