There is always
the threat of hope
which hangs us
on the ropes.

Wishing for a prayer
praying for a wish.
We try our best,
dancing pennies
from our palms
or worse.

Some of us do it
to collection plates.
Others to fountains,
wells and sewers.
We dump ourselves
as sacrifice.

Everything we want;
everything we give
sinks to the bottom.

Nobody listens.

Mercy is never given
and I’ve never asked.

What I once was
is not
what I remember.
And no, I am not

We are each our own
luck; our own penny.
The one we keep.
The one we believe.
The one we ingest,
just to keep safe
as we wait for
to come out
as shit.

There are the odds
and there is you.
There is that one
round more
you think you can’t
go, but you do
because you have to.

There is always
the dream and
then waking up.
But so long as
there is always
that cup of a coffee
waiting cold
to be warmed up,
I’ll know where
my prayers
get answered.

Some go to god.
Some go to luck.
Others to the bottle,
the best to the poem.

Myself? I go away.
I’ve known sunshine
I’ve known the rain.
For someone like me,
it’s all the same.

written on 05/24/2014 by: Matt Kane