Poetry: Like Volcanic Soil

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“Maybe hope is a remedy…”

Can we replenish
our hope
once we feel
that all is lost?

Maybe hope is a remedy
for our jumpy souls,
but possibly
a rusty key
to a solid lock
for a chain
or prison cell
of sorts.

Is it really worth
to fight
against the tide,
screaming, kicking,
digging our grave
for the inevitable departure?

It’s like we don’t belong
at all
to this planet;
passengers of drama,
cheap emotions
marijuana.

We can act
like clowns
expecting
our play
to save the day.

Or we can take
example
from our elders –
trees and rivers,
volcanic soil,
all go along with
dignity, respect,
unable to reject
the order and effect.

Poetry by Vladimir Fischer

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