What is hope but a wager dressed in gold,
A crown for the dreamers, the brave and bold.
We stack our faith on a fragile spin,
And question life when we don’t win.
We call it light, but it burns like need,
A whisper of maybe we let take the lead.
Our hands reach far for a promised design,
Yet the stars stay silent; we call it divine.
Hope is a dealer, slick with charm,
Betting our souls with a trembling arm.
It smiles at loss, it hums at pain,
Still, we ante up again and again.
So what is hope? A glorified goal,
A mirror that flatters the aching soul.
We gamble on outcomes, favor the spin;
And wonder forever why we don’t win.