Hope.

He's so cold, and his world's so dark.

He stands so bold, with words so stark.

Wise beyond his age, many years.

The price he's paid: many tears.

All the girls whispered in wonder,

'Bout the boy with eye's bright as thunder.

Yet his heart was so dark, in contrast,

Brought on by the horrors of his past.

He never talks, unless answering a teacher,

And every Sunday you'll find 'im listening to the preacher.

Why so silent, no one knows.

But the day he spoke, his voice betrayed all his woes.

From a ceiling fan, hanging from a rope,

They found him that night.

I suppose he never found that ray of Hope...