A Hopeful Way Of Thinking Poem by Jan Freundschuh

It's a thin thread, this hope you string me;
One faint line of thinking, improbable and sweet.
Am I to be scent hound, following a trail
As it winds through crowds, and even across streams?
If so, why did you not give me a scent hound's nose?

Or did you?

Again, stuck at one of those impasses you confront me with,
When the golden thread goes up, and over, and out of my sight.
You say 'set down your heavy-heartedness
As if suitcases in each hand;
Not valuables, but 'normalcy' is all that they contain'.

Suitcases, full of rocks, is all you ask that I abandon
So that light and, now, free
I scramble up, over, and on......
It's the path of the pioneer......
But they're the crazy ones, all.

Do I have the 'right stuff'?
No.
Will I accept it as gift?
Yes.