Popping Corn
Sometimes
Hope
seems a tightened rope,
that could take you across a gorge
or dash your tired body
across deserted rocks
below.
Today, a
popping corn of excitement
seeks to grow
in the sweet heat
of a volition ungoverned
by the admonishing
voice.
Hers the voice that says:
“Be careful,
you’ll be disappointed.
you will be let down.
He can’t do it,
as you won’t either.”
Her voice has a
sickly, soft thread,
that belies
a claim of protecting me.
“Embrace your addictions magnanimously”
says she.
“Failure is inevitable,
dear, sweet Hannah,
and I know your capabilities best”.
Her hand is friend to
a dripping dagger,
so subtle
you don’t notice
she has cut the bridge
until you experience yet another fall.
I will gag you
Mother Gothel
And pierce the blade
To your blackened breast.
You soothing sounds
And soft hands
Bely a murderous intention
that thwarts the best of me.
For Hope builds the bridge
To freedom.
Self-belief only authors achievement.
And risking trust in others,
Allows bouncing corn possibility,
To burst into life
Within us all.
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