Spearamus

Rolling a rock called hope,
Forever uphill.
Is this how you cope?
Or is it iron will?

You threw all your change,
In a wishing well.
But nothing changed
From what I can tell.

Promises, for those on your path,
Tragedies in the grapes of wrath.
Pain ripples in concentric rings.
Coins in a well called
“Hoping for better things”.

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