What greedy power convinces Hope

that it has authority over Grief and Despair,

and that their elusive, untethered states can be seized

by its iron grip, or its strength and shape

unable to be corroded by their presences;

Mine / the strength of my will / the insistence from the parts of me unloved

Where spoke the arrogant voice that makes a dream

so contrived and presumptuous into that of a prophetic vision,

forging from some vehement plea

a Delphic cry that turns a fateful thread into a silver wire that chips the sisters’ scissors

and grounds the clouds where peering eyes above preside;

Here / under my breath when I feel alone / draped by lamplight in a still room on a troubled night

Who has the impudence to know themselves —

the man-made monster,

only to return their dismembered parts

to the families whose loved ones had them stolen,

bidding peace to their creator

and seeking life and passage in an ethereal state,

unconcerned in razing the earth and imparting pain on their enemies,

choosing to move as the ground and trees do,

bearing the pain of their transgressors who are bound to their own parts

as an amalgam of stitched souls instead,

each weighed down by the dead dreams of their generations past,

weakened and corrupted by Grief and Despair;

Me/ my ego and pride/ the persona I’ve made to see to my wounds and guide the forgotten, lost child