The impotence of hope

Hope beguiled me

Harking lost yesterdays, fat tomorrows

Trying to make me miss ‘today’

By worrying about what should be

 

But what good is hope,

If not a ‘trussed up’ past

A lamentation of lost longings, missed loves,

The regret of a life lived too fast

 

That which is new, hope can never say

For hope feeds on memory, on reproach

Trying to fix life the familiar way

 

Then why is it that Tomorrow, when it comes,

Looks like Today?

 

So I choose to live this day, intensely, wholly

Plunge into its mystery, its wonder, its play

Letting it weave its story, have its say

 

Today is ‘now’, it’s me’

The ‘me’ of raging possibility

No longer do I seek this impotent hope

Of what ‘should’ be

For I am living it right now

What I need to be

Passionate, joyful, free