Hope is easy to enjoy,
With its enticing offer of joy
And anticipation- the thrill of the wait!-
Except for one thing that comes with it:
The fear of waking from the fragile vision.
And so it begins,
The self-doubt and paranoia,
With the endless interrogation
Locked in the dungeons of your mind.
Did it really happen?
Was it truly intended to be?
Is this a dream, a nightmare
Or a hallucination signifying something dire?
The fear takes grip,
And you find yourself dreading exposure,
Sure of being rebuked or ruined
For something that is barely real.
Hope, for all its beauty, is like a rose,
And fear? It is the thorn
That desists one from embracing the bloom.