Hope isn't a smiling face
among a dismal crowd.
Hope isn't the light at the end
of the tunnel.
It is not that thing with feathers
for there is no soul for it to perch on.

No, that is not hope.
Hope is when the crows
grow full from the carrion of
a dead lamb, and rest.
Hope is when an old man
dies in his sleep, and stops feeling
those years and years of pain.

Hope is not in your heart:
hope is the time after the noose tightens
and before you fade away.