“A Hope That Can’t Be True”

In the museum of forgotten dreams,
A exhibit stands, with shattered themes,
A hope that couldn’t be, now framed,
A reminder of what love proclaimed.

A masterpiece of what could never be,
A sketch of you, etched in me,
In invisible ink, it shines so bright,
Guiding me through life’s plodding night.
A fleeting dream, a wistful sigh
A longing heart, a hopeless cry
For something that can never be
A mirage of happiness, a fantasy

Like a phantom limb, it still remains,
A ghostly ache, a heartfelt stain,
A reminder of what could never be,
Yet, in its absence, I find me.
In secret, I nurture this hopeless flame
A beacon in the darkness, a futile claim
To a love that’s destined to remain
A distant memory, a forgotten refrain


In this curious gallery of pain,
I find solace in love’s refrains,
For though it couldn’t be, it taught,
The beauty of longing, the craft.
Yet still I hold on to this shattered dream
A fragment of what could never be
A hope that’s doomed, yet still it gleams
A futile longing, an eternal theme.

A dream that seems impossible to reach,
A goal that’s shrouded in uncertainty’s breach,
Yet still we hold on, refusing to cease,
For in the trying, our strength increases.
Of weaving tapestries of what-ifs,
And finding strength in fragile whiffs,
Of learning to love without possession,
And cherishing the impossible obsession.

The stars may hide, the path unclear,
But every step forward banishes fear,
Each fall teaches us to rise a new,
And in the darkness, our resolve shines through.
This hope that couldn’t be, now free,
Became a work of art, for me.