A Hopeless Tune

A Year of Sonnets — 062/365

Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash

Perhaps we’re meant to love the light we tend,
the tired blossoms bought with love and tears
that wilt to naught. The energy we spend
is thrown away. We realize every fear
that broke beneath the fragile skin we tried
to leather up — to toughen tender hope,
recycling all the empty swears we cried —
in so, giving ourselves a stoic scope
wherein we see the sacrifices made
as worthy — even though we come to ruin.
Now Serendipity, wielding a blade
cuts us the other way; this hopeless tune
that still we learn to sing, a grieving verse;
it pushes forward when we’d hit reverse.