Poems of hope

Were there hope

I was never in a league of noble gentlemen

To whom she'd cast polite and flitting smiles;

Only distant hope and dying dreams for me!

Perhaps descent into a game of wiles

To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights

With her angelic presence to declare;

Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,

And I in awe of golden plumes of hair.

But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire

To haunt me for an age and evermore, for

How could I expect to hold her silken hand

When I am but a fading ghost of yore?