Don't Look Into My Eyes

You ask me “Why”—

How honest should I be?

Should I—lie—

To protect you from Me?

I dislike certainty—

I’d rather dwell—

In Possibility—

Avoid that hell—

Condemns—awkwardness—

I’d rather maintain—

Beautiful—Broken—

This Undefined mess.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers--REVISITED

“Hope” is the thing with talons—

That latches to the soul—

And sings the tune of sirens’ cries—

And never stops—at all—

Those strangled—in the Flood—are heard—

Air bubbles popping nigh—

Yet none abide the little Bird

That lures with cunning Lie—

I’ve heard it in the chillest man—

And in the desperate Plea—

And—sadly—in Extremity,

It plays its trick—on me.