Hope
Hope I thought my hope had died with you Elohim, when nihilism had reigned supreme. Every day my hope is disproven, but instead of shrinking or wavering, it grows inside of me like a tumour. I hope for the future, the way my priest had hoped for the rapture, or for Salvation, or just to stand facing his fellow man and truly feel seen. I was too young to tell the difference, ad orientem Versus populum. Does my hope come from naivety, ignorance? Is my hope a shield to hide behind when called to action? A bed time story I read myself, covers pulled up to my chin, The stupid dream that goodness begets goodness. Is my hope comfort to others? A candle glowing at the end of a dark corridor, flickering without wind. Or is it a meal I serve to those who are already full, one that gets caught in the teeth and comes out past the lips as vomit, ad nauseam. The stupid dream that evil will be repaid with evil. I whip...