Hope is a fickle emotion. Perhaps the gods knew this When they left it as the last thing In Pandora's box. One final curse To deceive us into believing That everything would be okay.
Then again, maybe not. Maybe they knew that our capacity to hope Would be greater than our capacity to fear.
The flight announcement Wakes me from my slumber Just in time as well. It'd be a shame if I missed this, Since rearranging the other Trips, would be hell.
The final boarding call Saves my from immediate despair. And I head closer to my father's funeral To make up for time spent elsewhere.
How marvellous it must be I tell myself To not have to be rooted In one place or another But to get the best of both As the season demands.
Then my gaze descends From the sky to the earth And my thoughts are no longer Filled, with so much mirth. For there I see people Who have been uprooted And the picture is not so rosy anymore
The man in the moon Must be perplexed, and more than a little sad He must wonder, why For all the joy and happiness to be had We choose to live in such enmity Naming one set good, and another bad.