Hope Is A Thing Of Inner Beauty Poem by Leaking Pen

When I open my overcrowded closet
What do I see? But every stamped deposit
From a broken heart on one shelf
To a worn out mind, reminder of my old self
And from each shelf a wire twisted hanger…
Another “Mommie Dearest” intense anger
So many to count all the sarcastic chatter
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What is the matter? ”
As if “Mommie Dearest “and others do care
About my life falling apart here and there,
Pain is not equal when the guilty walk free
And poetic guru's criticisms pile up on me
Because of my incorrect use of poetic lingo
And typecast me as another poetic bimbo,
My plate is full and not with the good stuff
I wish my life is as sweet as a cream puff,
And so what if I mingled my poetic lines
And rearranged them so many times
I tried my best at ABAB rhythmic flow
I'm afraid my delirium is starting to show
And why make it difficult for my eyes to perceive
How far away hope is for my heart to receive?
When hope is burned and reduced to ashes
And when a death wish into my life crashes
Then I ask myself what keeps me going on?
When winter clouds have kidnapped the Sun
And it is always freezing weather outside
And trees and shrubs from their leaves denied
By strong polar winds howling
And with destructive force prowling
And as they strip bare the last proud oak tree
To make space to hang one more calamity
In my winter closet of perpetual despair
And makes me wonder If God does really care?
Or if despair to be always my illicit affair
And I need a new wire hanger to add on- no repair-
While lukewarm water from my old furnace
Makes the pipes from my radiators nervous
For they cannot warm my heart upstairs
Or help me hibernate like polar bears
But my hope is stubborn like a mule
And my nature is to break every rule
And my guilt still finds time to rhyme
And verses in my poem become sublime
And my hope is a beautiful thing
Like life aspiring in each spring
Keeps me going on from winter to winter
And removes from my hand this painful splinter
And allows me to do a spring cleaning
And clean out one more pained yearning
And creates instead a brand new space
Unmasks my poker face guarding a winning face
And I reveal a winning royal flush
From it comes my great joy rush
When I consider the odds are one in a hundred
Or more like one in a thousand- when I’m outnumbered -
But believing in hope’s existence, my life keeps me winning
And the wheel of fortune spinning, spinning, spinning
Away from its red danger zone to emancipated green zone
And in my inner ear I hear Beethoven’s Ode to Joy ring tone
And I never suffer from lack or slack or from the devil’s plotted attack
For goodness is my stake and my good nature always guards my back
Therefore; Hope is a thing of inner beauty,
To honour it in poetry is my solemn duty.

July 18th 2015
Copyright Leaking Pen 2015