I walked down my solitary hill,
Into the city and its monotonous mills.
Into the quiet night,
I reached my door divine.
The door to what was once my paradise,
But now hope slipped like black ice.
All roads lead home,
It is just a romantic hope.
I looked over at my untouched chair,
And found myself lying over there.
The dilapidated house did once again transform ,
As if welcoming me with open arms.
Not a soul was in sight,
But the one I had to fight.
Crying is easy, but it is hard to hope.
Maybe, all roads lead home.
* This was written a long time ago , but I see the meaning now. Self fulfilling prophecies?*
It is indeed hard to hope , but not impossible, you will soon learn it as in the medical profession you will face many challenges and if at that point you lose hope, everything will be lost, but a doctor cannot afford this and one has to hope against the hope.
ReplyDeleteWell yes, I read doctors being described as the peddlers of hope somewhere. Realistic hope. That's kinda my stance as of now.
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