There’s a place in the human mind
caught between the crush of despair
and a pathetic reach for a destitute hope
where I imagine you at the door
a bag, a smile, perhaps a tear in your eye
The same desolate aspiration that drives
all lost causes and crippled wishes
that same which has the condemned hold
to those last moments before inevitable doom
mounting the gallows and waiting for
a pardon or reprieve
or the deathbed confessions of the dying
as they reach for an afterlife in a fancied flight
Absurdity and folly are the bedfellows
of those figments of deceitful optimism
an indigent ambition of biology
and a fruitless pursuit of fictional belief
But still we hope, I hope, against odds no gambler would take
illusory dreams and undeniable horrors
in perpetual and perfect tension one against the other
rejecting reality for fallacious promises

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