There is of course, enormous room for hope. The end is always good. Stick around, and you will see how good it always is when we arrive, when we have reached the end.
Beyond the shallow grave, the night is dark. I see the only things around: the trees.
The trees are watching. We may burn them down, and still their ashes sing of victory. Behold the trees, them happy happy trees. Leave them. Let them sing, and they will dance.
The trauma drama. Oh, The Afterthought!
Who is the Speaker in your poetry? If it is who you say it is, then let that speaker come toward the light so we can see him, since we know he isn’t there.
