Of Hope and Fear

Hope is a gift
So rarely given,
Mostly hoarded
Like money kept
By proverbial misers
Stuffed beneath a moth eaten
Mattress, turning into
Crumbling remnants of
Dead presidents, smiling
With their inky green
Faces encrusted by
History's lost pages
Where they slowly learned
Each secret handshake
In sullen observance
Of bogus brotherhood
Ruled by its unblinking eye
Floating across the dollar bill and
Filling checkbooks with dim sums
(Dim ditties diddle-dim)
Each figure glaring
Like the tuneless melody
Of St. Anthony's fire
Blazed in a single mind.

Fear is a gift
Freely delivered
Like an invite to a tea party
Behind old Bedlam's walls
Where the end of history
Led to a minor pause
Next to the edge of reason
And the cliff-jumping lads
Took to zip-lining
Across the land
Leaving only a faint trace
Like a human face etched
In the sand
Till high tide
Worked its way.
Just another day at the whaling station
Before the Pequod sailed.