Hope I did for many things,
Countless envelopes torn,
Letters I sent to my future,
All my hopes laid bare.
Oh if only they could see me,
Still scribbling madly,
Inking away, hoping for hope,
But clutches at me despair,
And so I rip another letter,
Of old; a room I see,
Of warm snowy nights,
In paradise untold,
Another old hope, to stave off,
The creeping darkness, and write on I do,
Beacons to my future, to make certain,
I hold on, with impossible hope.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
