running aground on some new shore,
only to find that province is really run down and bleak.
I hope i'm not grounded, rooted, fixed,
by some unspeakable shame,
or all washed up in an oil slick.
I hope that these feelings aren't misguided,
when I tell myself i'm at the brink,
of some brave new salvation.
I hope that i'm finally cleansed,
of all of this tar thats covering my feathers,
that is filling my lungs.
I hope that the days will not grow shorter,
to the point that there is further rationing,
and I hope the end is not in sight.
I hope, beyond hope, before hope and during it,
that at the point that I am no longer my past,
that I realise I've done almost everything right.