The Inky Blue

Hope does not have to be where dreams linger.

Sometimes hope is the wild-eyed orphan that stalks across landscapes of shuffling masses – known as life – a deep-seated, blissfully- satiated normalcy.

Or it could be that hope is just the quiet trickle of hopefully not messing up a thing. You trod through life, learning some things, losing some, but hey, nothing’s perfect. So nothing’s wrong.

You’ll know which to trust – the unhoused orphan or the phantom trickle, hopefully, when you see them.

Or better yet, trust neither – trust the third that comes along. The dark carries charm, or so they say.

Interpret this poem as you will. I myself don’t know what I just wrote.