Thursday, November 25, 2010

The fires of hope

It’s always hope that keeps alive
the will to survive
but in the delve and ferret
I see no wood or coal
beneath the fires of hope.

Ash, more ash, upon the ground,
the dirty, dusty, ground,
where humans tramp in circles
cold without a fire.

But, lo behold, there comes at last
the new and clean untainted
to light again another fire
until that too burns out
and lies as one with old.

So the new, unused, and tested, tried,
mingle in the dust of time
and blow towards heaven’s gate
like those seeking redemption.

Sad to say ash simply goes
way beyond the entrance gates
and settles o’er the hand of fate
that again, again, and again,
lights, burns, kills, every flame
in the fires of hope.

Circles, circles, round and round,
hope’s not a thing to ere be found
forever burning bright
and yet, and yet, those times of fire
so beautifully enflame
the will to survive!

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