by M. Douglas Hoss
Poor dreams that are never dreamed nor breathed to
life; never heard nor laid to love. Poor sighs
of highest points of highest life never
sighed nor touched upon placation's sound.
Poor words that never formed upon their lips
nor emanated their thoughts among the stars
of night; poor eyes that never cried from dreams
that sparkled within their perfect flawless right.
Poor hope now rearing within our hatred's time,
bearing no clue to what it was created for.
Poor trust all charred on coals of discontent;
poor will that seeks its rise with fists against
this purging. Poor worldly calamity
yet, despite all this, all our love remains.
Last updated April 25, 2013