Hope.

The beclouded moon, humming a mournful tune,
In a panel of grey,
Crisp leaves abed, on a ground that’s dead,
Pave a solitary way.

A harp that’s silent, in a world that is violent,
Speaks of life today;
A listless expression, on a face in depression,
A humourless sway.

Beauteous Nature barred, from lives that are charred,
Of their very substances;
People do seek compassion, in the guise of passion,
Betraying all nuances.

They welcome greed and nothing’s left to feed,
Their hungering souls;
Rising out of wombs, they are ghosts from tombs,
Just wandering fools.

Trying to find peace, in this worldly alcove,
Is not an easy task;
Trying to evade all, as hearts start to fade,
Behind the darkest mask.

Entrapped within lures, that have no known cures,
That have no escape;
You hope to find a heart that won’t ever depart,
Leaving your body agape.

9th June.

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