Poemetry by T.A. Barnhart


hope is not my friend.
i understand very well
the ways and nature
of that ugly fucker, fear.
that bastard lets me know
loud and clear
how very much
i’m going to suffer.
hear’s minion, anxiety,
does the dirty work,
shredding and flaying me
bit by bloody bit.
it’s easy to understand:
they want to kill me,
slowly and painfully.
hope smiles the sweetest
of all possible smiles,
and i am deceived.
oh, i think; here come
happiness, peace, contentment.
but it’s a shadow show
and nothing more.
nothing substantial.
nothing real.
hope is fear’s twin,
but got the nicer attitude
and the charming smile.
neither tells the truth.
at last, on my knees
and drowning in regret,
i see hope’s true face,
and christ, is it ugly.
i have found long and hard
to defend my life
from that nasty-ass gang
of fear and anxiety,
and all the while,
i was letting hope
set me up
for the ultimate fall.
my eyes are open,
and i know the truth.
i’m done with them,
and i will survive them,
even though it means
depending on the one person
i trust the least:

©TA Barnhart August 15, 2020