Soft Monster

It was hope
that kept me here

long after
I should have fled.

Hope, soft monster,
makes light work

of final plans
and end games.

Not to suggest
that things were easy

after hope had sunk its teeth
into my skin

but once bitten
I was diseased immediately

and sick with it,
I stayed put.

Now, weary, unable
to move on, 

I sleep cuddled in fever
with hope and 

long for an end
to symptoms:

obstinate survival,
longing for dawn,

sporadic optimism,
slight joy at odd moments

when I feel like
perhaps all of this

is worth
all this trouble.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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