Hope and Its Fist

March 29, 2010
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A feeling of joy of what is to come,
flying on wings covered in silver light.
Sought out and worshipped by most; feared by some.
Placing one’s great desire within sight.

Nurtured in the warmth of trusting mourners.
Tended by hands of endless doting care.
Understood not by weary foreigners.
Defended by open hearts of despair.

And once Hope has built an army of trust,
it smashes a hole into innocence.
Scattering dreams in colors of pure lust.
Dividing devoted minds with a fence.

We cling onto the remnants of goals;
watching as the world burns into black coals.

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