Hope isn't born in light, and love, and song,
Where rock cathedrals tower, proud and strong;
Hope isn't glorious, well-contented time,
With happiness ahead, and grief behind.
If it were so, then hope is weak, and small,
For hope, unchallenged, isn't hope at all.
True hope is harshly forged, in blood and fire,
Where love is true, yet every heart's a liar;
True hope is shadow, murky blues and grays,
Yet blossoms in the desert of your days.
For this is hope, through grief however strong,
To still believe in light, and love, and song. |
