If you are
not an
ocean
do not
make
waves.

You say it tastes bad.
I say it tastes delicious.
You say television is better.
I say newspapers are better.
You want to hangout with friends.
I want to hangout with family.
You want to be mean.
I want to be just.
You say happiness comes from money.
I say happiness comes from what good I do for others.
This is what is different,
because I am 'ME' and you are 'YOU'.

It's days like this when you wake up
& find yourself in a dream.
A dream where you meet the one you love,
do things what you want to do.
But in a split second it fades
like it never existed.
The truth hits you as you realize
you were awake the whole time
& dreaming a dream in a dream.
You wake up to a whole brand new day,
working hard to make your dream come true.

HOPE.... What is it?
Hope is when you wish for something,
hoping it comes true.
Hope is when you wish to get 'A' in maths,
hoping you get it.
Hope is when you wish not to be scolded by your mom for breaking her favorite vase,
hoping she lets you off the hook easily.
Hope is when you wish to be selected for the lead role in your school play,
hoping you get it.
Hope is when you wish to be selected in the football team,
hoping you make it,
Hope is when you wish to get an approval from your parents to go out for a party,
hoping they agree.
And lastly,
Hope is when you wish to make your parents proud of you,
hoping they do.
This is what is HOPE.

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

He halted in the wind, and—what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.

“Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom,” I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year’s leaves.

Though your day is dark and troubling
Though your hours are filled with fear
Walk boldly into the fire
Always remember I am here

-Brian Patrick O'Connor SR.- 2016