Of hope and irony

Of hope and irony.
This midnight sun brings no solace to my aching bones.

I feel so supine as I gaze upon the times of old.

It is but a dance in a moonlit parlor,

the essence of skeletons dancing in strange valor.

Before you blink the images have faded,

caught for a millisecond by a lens,

but it cannot seal the hope that was instilled in such smiling faces.

It was nothing but a glitch, captured by a simple click.

Before I could develop this scenario,

it had already leaked its scandalous blackened ink,

onto my innocent hands.

We have been long dead,

but these hearts still pound with anxiety,

and we are dancing to a melody,

of hope and irony.