As they look at you, you are complete

And you vacant by heart, in dire need

Tears trickle down the untouched cheeks

As if sky pours on fallen autumn leaves.


Torn into pieces, crushed and cracked

Taken away with the flow, get mud leashed

You swim with the woeful will of shackled belief

Servile stare at them who still sway on trees.


Dried but to the drowned they look complete

Succumbed to the change, the bleached would fall

Each will follow the drenched, how mighty they may be,

For how long hope could be a living possibility?


Hope is a beautiful lie you convince yourselves with; for truth is far-fetched without a sign of hope.

Hope sustains the possibility of long run happiness rather than a perfect, permanent, present damage.


© Written Frames, 2017