Try Forsaking Hope

Don't try self-improvement: try forsaking
Hope, attempt the sullen life of slackers,
Covering your dreams in quiet lacquers
With a penchant for discoloured flaking,
Answering the phone without quite waking;
Sell the quarter horses to the knackers
After getting money from your backers,
Hiding all the evidence of shaking.

Giving up the ghost? No, just the pleasures
Of a largely circumscribed existence.
New days coming? This futile insistence
On some forward-moving hunt for treasures
Only proves the need for drastic measures:
Sorrow's all you're seeing in the distance.