Hoping

Hope
He is a four letter word, so gentle
And with so many sharp hard teeth
You think of him
As the clouds fly past
A bright blue sky and red brown leaves
Dancing their dying waltz

Hope
Need not exist
When things are going well
In happiness and sunshine. Instead
he is the rope that you cinch around
Your waist when the path
Disappears beneath your feet

You are not responsible for your trauma.
Full stop.
And hope, he is meant to be reaching down
Into the deep darkness
An outstretched hand
A beacon. A lighthouse

But, he bites

Knowing when
And how
And maybe *if*
You should take his hand
Is an essential skill
That no one teaches well.

So you sit
In the dark
Waiting
Wondering