Hope

It hovers in the lonely dark and wallows in the mind, Sustaining broken fragments of a hard and harrowed will; Impelled to life by whispered wailings, of those hearts, unresigned. It hovers in the lonely dark and wallows in the mind, Accepting of a wistful dream, to horrid truth bid blind; Affirmed despite a fallowed faith, that’s poisoned by its till. Sustaining broken fragments of a hard and harrowed will, It leaden leads to deep-scribed spirit, captive caught of Tristan twill; Declared in fanfared, feeble phrases, yet sturdy sealed, and suited, signed. By patience, prised from weary wit, and by languid anguish, nourished still. It hovers in the lonely dark and wallows in the mind, Sustaining soft and broken fragments of a hard and harrowed will