Perfect

Beautiful Dark

By: the iHope Poet

Beautiful dark skies 

perfect on this beautiful, dark day. 

Ashen clouds with sullen shadow, 

dim light all but hidden from view. 

Intricate figures carved in thick, gray blankets of air. 

And hazy dreams confuse my focus --

Do you think it will rain today?

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Again and Again and Again

in the Glass Cage
By: the iHope Poet

He doesn't see the shape of his own golden scales,
his fins, or his stubby sheer tail
before it's too late. He's up against the glass again.
And again, and again, and again.
Each time, he rears back from the roadblock
and remembers, dimly, the reflection of his little fish body
that the wall of his cage reveals in the light.

Yet, in a matter of seconds, his focus retreats
and the glass rushes back, quite close to his face until -- clink!
And again. And again.

Maybe the incessant idea of escape --
of the world beyond, which he could see so clearly --
maybe it caused him to forget where he was and what he was.
And for every clash against the barrier, for every
ripple of water that faded the mirror of his essence away,
the urge to break free was reinforced;
driving his dull mind to madness.

Oh, the insanity! That final push that leaves his body
floating on the surface.
Is freedom what he tastes in the water now,
having grasped this fateful reverie?

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Note: ever wonder why a goldfish will hit the side of his bowl, back up, and hit it again? I learned that they do this because in those few seconds that elapse between their running into the glass and backing up upon realizing they were hit, they forget everything that just happened, and then continue forward. Again.

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The damage that this consistent forefront attack must have on their body has some pretty long-term affects,   I'm sure. It must be quite difficult to remember what's blocking their path when the barrier is see-through and their minds are suffering so.

made of bubble

Bursting

By: the iHope Poet

Wide horizons made small and close, 

reachable and possible, 

but hardly tangible. 

Grasps of reality blurred, in dreams

and wishes -- your truth 

is stretched at the seams. 

In this bubble, blindness

is more seeable than sight,

more hoped for than hope. 

Once burst, the horizons re-expand, 

the truths are fit and sight becomes

sought for and found. 

Though the distance is vast, 

life's no longer confined to that 

small, empty bit of space, 

Where before, all that filled it's realm

was hot air and wishful, 

idle reverie.

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where to go

When You're Bound
By: the iHope Poet

It's a curious thing
how simply pleasurable sin can seem
and how it tends to make you free
until, you're not.
A curious thing.

And how subtly,
the flaxon cord is tied loosely
around your neck -- at first you see,
and then, it's tight.
So subtly.

Quite frightening,
to realize the bondage of that string
that pulled you down the path, unfree,
and now you're trapped.
How frightening.

And so it be
that when you throw your agency

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to evil's hands, for pleasure's things,
the chains are locked. And late
it be.

 . . .

A curious thing, though,
all redeemed.
The bonds are cut, your path set free
to turn around.

Love's curious thing.