A Reflection of My Hopes
My hopes are children I have raised
with great care, and have clothed with
multicolored garments in an effort at
protective coloration, trying to deflect
the eyes of others from the true hope they
might display if ever they were seen naked.
My hopes are musical notes singing a quiet
tune under the cacophony of the world; they
need to blend into the disquieting symphony,
but the strain they sing is one heard only by
my own ears, and I am careful no one else
ever deciphers these notes or recognizes them.
But most of all my hopes are mirrors, for I see
they transcribe more of my own character than
they do trying to gain what I desire. It is I who can
hope and hope, yet it is they who describe better
the man I am or want to be, although they never chide,
but instead commend me for being one who hopes.