Hope Poem

Searching For Truth

Even in the our darkest moments, knowing nothing can be salvaged, it is never our nature to give in.

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The Myth Of Surrender


Published: April 2009

Across a scarlet sunset I will be watching.
Flowers turn in vain to face the falling sun,
But drinking in the moonlight of defeat,
In the darkness their failures will dawn,
And the worst emerge from hiding.
We have all become chasers
Of things we know must end.
It never stops us.
We can't help but
Defy fate.

On a lone old wooden bench I will be waiting,
The last stronghold of nature in the city.
Now towers grow like trees in the summer,
Standing as shepherds of our downfall.
The stars burn themselves out slower.
When nothing can be salvaged,
Hope is all we have left.
It's never enough,
But we still try,
Even now.

Each tired Sunday morning I will be wasting
Some little amount of the time we have left,
Praying to some god to make it all right.
When church is as silent as mourning.
We have been abandoned in turn,
Lost as a chick returning.
The nest isn't empty;
It was never there.
We build alone
All the same.

From the heart of disaster I will be wanting,
For somehow everything to come to an end,
And spare us the agony of waiting.
The race itself is against madness.
You don't win prizes for trying,
Only perception changes.
The game's rigged; then it's done.
Even knowing this,
Nothing differs.
We still fight.

In a place all to myself I will be wishing
That I saw the reason for futility.
Others think to hold back death with laughter.
If clowns were angels we would be saved,
But I deny the sun its light,
For what I see in the day.
But who would dim the stars?
And even in this
I, too, strive.

On the curb outside your house I will be weeping.
Through a broken heart all things seem a drama,
And if the world won't end it feels that way.
Doomed from the start, but I still want you.
Out of sight is not out of mind,
For the night kisses the day
And still the faithful pray.
They were all right, though
I won't give up,
Not this time.



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