It isn’t until now that I appreciate the deceptive nature of the month of May. I suppose that, ever since I was a child, May has always meant endings, but also, the promise of new beginnings. The final full month of school, with glimpses of summer ahead. But I’ve grown to learn that, more often than not, such promises [don’t] come to fruition.
May has always been fraught with false promise
dreams of love
fire, hope
endings
Conceived in the cradle of springs
Grown gravid then stillborn come cold winter
And STILL I wish.
But I have been stricken too many times
with this abominable endless madness
The infinite crossing, entangled paths
of a million pinpoints of light
careening throughout the cosmos
wracking my mind
To unwind one thread means to
unravel the entire thing
and there are not enough millenia
for one man to attempt such a task
I do not want to hope
But to deny hope is to deny life.