76 comments

Mystery Creative Nonfiction African American

we seek for hope.

but it died 

long 

long 

ago.

so we know

that it hasn’t just disappeared

of its own accord

no

we killed it.

murdered it in cold blood

dragged its lifeless body

out of our lives

and buried it under the mound of dirt

that we call life.

but for some reason

we still search for it. 

we still mount the podiums 

and tell the people who follow us

that there is a hope.

right?

as if

we hadn’t killed it years ago.

so now we run in circles.

try to jump over the hurdles

that were placed in our way

by the lies we told ourselves.

attempt to hide 

from the past that we’ve tried so hard 

to leave behind

but the past will always haunt us

the present will always disappoint us

and the future will always taunt us with what could be

can be

would be

should be.

even though sometime soon

your future will become your present

and your present will soon become your past.

nothing is ever concrete

except what you put your hope in

but hope is dead

so what do we do 

now?

we lie to ourselves. 

create a false hope

to stand in place of the one

that we unreasonably killed.

we give excuses for why

we are

where we are

but there is no excuse for murder

so why are there so many killers

on the street

roaming free?

because we don’t prosecute 

without evidence

and there’s no evidence

of the death

of something you buried

so far under.

so when they pat you down

and find no weapon

when they search your house

and find no body

they smile

shake your hand

holster their gun

and walk away

because 

since they can’t find it 

it must not be there 

right?

we pray

that things get better

not bitter

and that good things

will always stay together 

even though it makes no sense 

to pray for something to stay together

when it’s already fallen apart

and it makes no sense 

to pray for something to get better

when we’re the ones who made it bitter

in the first place.

oh

the irony.

but the thing is

that whenever anything 

is in high demand

and low supply

it is too commonly stolen.

taken by force

from the ones 

who haven’t thrown theirs away.

so once again

we become criminals.

we steal hope 

from the lucky few

that had the sense

not to murder theirs.

we steal hope

from the young

and from the old.

but stolen hope

doesn’t nourish the soul

the way real hope does.

it’s just a morphine drip 

for your conscience

but a constant drip

will empty itself 

rather quickly

and leave you more empty

than you were before.

leave you begging for more

of the sweetness and relief

that it brings.

so you find another

innocent soul to rob.

in the end

you ruin the lives of so many

take from them so much

only to obtain so little

of something 

that will 

never

ever

ever 

last

so many things

can take us down the 

road 

that winds

down 

down

down

but never leaves anywhere

we travel down

but since it’s not a very steep descent

we don’t notice 

until it’s far too late

for redemption

until the spiral’s walls come down 

just enough 

for us to look over the edge 

and realize that we’re in 

a whole new dimension 

with no one to speak to 

no one to steal from.

for once 

in this miserable life

you’re completely

one hundred percent

alone.

it comes as no surprise

but when whatever numbness you brought in is gone

the throbbing pain 

and the crippling ache

will take over

and when it does

your fake hope will fall through

and you will cry

you will mourn the loss 

of your real

original

hope.

you will think back and ask yourself

if it was worth it.

you will wonder

why

and soon it will dawn on you

that there is no way out.

that the pit you’ve unconsciously 

dug for yourself

is too deep for you to climb

then

what will you do?

there’s no point

in working so hard

for so long

all for something

that will evaporate

in a second

before your very eyes.

there's no point

in putting sweat and blood

into seeking for something 

that is gone.

it’s a pity

that this world

will die out

so soon.

the potential among us

gone 

poof

just like that

because our sustenance

our hope

died

long 

long ago.

but is it possible

for us to open the garage

sort through the dusty boxes 

pull out the shovel

and dig up the grave?

is it possible 

for our hope

to rise from the dead

and restore us

once again?

yes.

because hope will never really die.

there will always be a fire

raging in the heart of one.

there will always be a spark

ignited in the hearts of few.

there will always be an ember

smoldering in the hearts of many.

and 

at the very least

there will always be the ashes

lying in the hearts of all.

hope will never die

the human race may misplace their priorities

but the most important things 

always find their places

even if it takes a while

to set out its name tag.

soon we will begin to see 

the shovels in our hands

the graves in our lives

and we will begin to dig

dig until the first glimmers show

dig until we can touch it

feel it

wrap our arms and our minds around it.

it doesn’t take much

for a whole generation

to find their hope.

one by one

like a disease

it spreads

and once it starts

you can’t stop it

it just goes on and on.

it’s a revolution that we must lead.

join together to prove wrong those who say 

we are a shattered people.

prove to them 

that there is something much

much better

waiting for us

on the horizon.

let us show the world

that

though our hope

may have died 

long

long 

ago

we

will

not

be 

broken


July 31, 2020 23:46

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.

76 comments

A. S.
16:39 Aug 06, 2020

Great job! This was absolutely beautiful.

Reply

Phebe Emmanuel
18:16 Aug 06, 2020

Thank you so much, A.S.!

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Deborah Angevin
10:26 Aug 06, 2020

Great poem, Phebe! Would you mind reading my recent story out, "(Pink)y Promise"? Thank you :D

Reply

Phebe Emmanuel
13:25 Aug 06, 2020

Thank you, and anytime! Just ask!

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Jen Park
08:29 Aug 01, 2020

I loved it! The way you left the fist words of the lines uncapitalized and the way you divided the lines were genius! (Don't know why, but still, genius.) This is such a creative approach to the prompt. The metaphor of killing and stealing hope was very thought provoking. ;)

Reply

Phebe Emmanuel
09:34 Aug 01, 2020

Thank you! Actually, I had started writing a real story, but a few hours before the submission closed I decided I didn't like it and started completely over. I was scared it would be too rushed, but I guess not! :)

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Elaina Goodnough
16:17 Dec 05, 2020

Wonderful story, and I just got through with reading your more recent free-verse, so I feel very emotional right now! 🥲 Great job!

Reply

Phebe Emmanuel
17:06 Dec 05, 2020

Lol, thank you so much, Rose!

Reply

Elaina Goodnough
17:23 Dec 05, 2020

Of course!

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Sia S
06:55 Aug 12, 2020

Woah? You rule poetry!! Nice message. And, unique take on the prompt! - S

Reply

Phebe Emmanuel
22:44 Aug 12, 2020

Thank you, Sia!

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

Bring your short stories to life

Fuse character, story, and conflict with tools in Reedsy Studio. 100% free.