there were days she couldn't hear the sound
of her own hope
heart tucked neatly past
affairs that had
no hearts
or flowers or even a
faint feel of freaking
anticipation
ivy wept an
eternity of fear
and failure
screams escaping sobs
like rocks dashed upon the waves
and nothing but nothing
was as it should be
in still moments of
chaos brewed turmoil
the coffee retained aroma somehow
and morning passed into years
ivy grew to choke the tree
that raised the sidewalk to
a stumble block of hazard
and learned to
walk around the pitfalls
subtly shrouded
by a layer of grass so neatly
lain in words she longed to hear
a lie rings clear as
chimes sing songs of
righteousness from steeples
when a girl learns to
watch the actions of the one
whose lips move, but
there were days she couldn't hear the sound
of her own hope.