Hope is futile
it comes slowly
and flies away laughing
and comes back to torment
the pitiful soul
until dread and fear arrive
and make a party of misery
The unexpected guest--death
shows up--and maybe sorrow will come too
but the party would not be complete
without despair--and agony must come
because it wouldn't be the same without her
The way things are is this
the pain is releasing
shockwaves through every fibre
and the being is slowly wilting
in essence it is death
The faded flower struggles for air
mercy is it's worst enemy---
but brutality is uplifting, and happiness
is a trick played by hope--to get us in the mood
for failure
