Post by Wildpelt on Mar 11, 2014 19:34:52 GMT -5
Please Rate on the poll and review!
Hope is...
The invisible army that follows,
The flickering flame in the damp woods,
The shield in the arms of the defenseless,
The pinpoint of light within the dark tunnel,
The last wall of the smallest fortress,
The hardest steel of the grandest armor,
And the most fragile of weapons.
Hope is the warm feeling inside,
The most powerful of all things,
The sap and nectar of love,
Pales in comparison
To each of hope’s waves of relief.
Hope is not subtle,
Nor is it forceful.
Hope can be a soft heat,
Or an explosion of assurance;
But this is not painful,
Or devastating,
Yet is contained inside you,
Limited to your own demise,
And even thus,
Remains peacefully tranquil all alone.
Even in your darkest night,
As fear, the enemy,
Takes hold,
Through pain and torture,
Through crippling despair,
Through your most sightless moments,
Hope will still be there.
Unlike love,
It is not awakened.
Hope need not be released,
It cannot be contained when active,
Nor is it ever destroyed,
Hope simply resides inside,
Like a nursed flame.
It crackles and burns faintly,
Writhes and thrives inside,
Stroked when your need is great,
There only when you choose to tend to it,
Yet it will not abide,
Even if that is what you dare so crave.
Within each darkened shadow,
One’s eyes may catch the light.
While blows may rain and tear apart your armor,
The metal is reinforced.
Within every insult and down-casting,
A small arm keeps you up.
At the most ground and veracious assault,
Every wall will hold firm.
And even in the agonizing torture,
Hope will heal your wounds.
Hope is a damp blanket,
Not cold, nor lukewarm.
It penetrates into your fear,
And begins to heart itself up,
The flame growing brighter inside,
Repairing and reforming,
And holding onto you no matter what.
As your darkness closes in,
It flows from within,
Illuminating you,
Making you its own shining star.
The moment you think it is no longer there,
It enlightens your stupor,
Ripping apart the talons holding you,
Molding into your sword and shield,
It becomes your greatest aide,
And will defeat all adversaries.
Some say it comes from God,
Some say luck,
Other argue fate,
And destiny.
No matter where hope may be,
No matter who dare to triumph or possess it,
Hope is the same,
Wherever it is,
For it comes from within.
The act of having it fade,
Is seconded only to heartbreak.
Yet hop is never truly torn out,
It is only the mind,
Believing it is gone,
Blocking your connection with it,
While your fooled into believing,
It is gone.
Yet hope does not leave.
Hope only dissipates,
Disperses within you.
Hope doesn’t flow out of you,
For you’re body only breaks it apart,
And makes it appear as if
It is gone.
Hope doesn’t leave you,
For it is a sheet of damp blanket,
And once torn apart,
It can be sowed back together again.
While hope, unlike love,
Is not inherited.
It can be passed on,
Yet not skip into generations.
Hope is more unique then that,
Hope can be shared,
Transferred,
Given up,
And hope can flow deep inside you.
It can awaken your animal cravings to survive,
And can either thrive,
Or writhe.
When you fear for the worst,
Await for the flame in your heart,
And you’ll see.
Courage and hope are easy,
Once you realize you’re not alone.
That hope will never abandon you,
Simply look into that flame in your heart.
Inside us all,
Deep within your soul,
If you look to the light in you,
In your heart,
The roaring yet tranquil flame,
It beats the coldest spell of fear,
And fills up your entire being.
Warms the most frozen,
Allows you to revitalize,
Hope is both liberating,
And renewing.
Hope can save even the most lost,
It does not segretate.
Love is for all,
As is your hope.
Hope knows no bounds,
And is even here now.
Hope.
Hope is...
The invisible army that follows,
The flickering flame in the damp woods,
The shield in the arms of the defenseless,
The pinpoint of light within the dark tunnel,
The last wall of the smallest fortress,
The hardest steel of the grandest armor,
And the most fragile of weapons.
Hope is the warm feeling inside,
The most powerful of all things,
The sap and nectar of love,
Pales in comparison
To each of hope’s waves of relief.
Hope is not subtle,
Nor is it forceful.
Hope can be a soft heat,
Or an explosion of assurance;
But this is not painful,
Or devastating,
Yet is contained inside you,
Limited to your own demise,
And even thus,
Remains peacefully tranquil all alone.
Even in your darkest night,
As fear, the enemy,
Takes hold,
Through pain and torture,
Through crippling despair,
Through your most sightless moments,
Hope will still be there.
Unlike love,
It is not awakened.
Hope need not be released,
It cannot be contained when active,
Nor is it ever destroyed,
Hope simply resides inside,
Like a nursed flame.
It crackles and burns faintly,
Writhes and thrives inside,
Stroked when your need is great,
There only when you choose to tend to it,
Yet it will not abide,
Even if that is what you dare so crave.
Within each darkened shadow,
One’s eyes may catch the light.
While blows may rain and tear apart your armor,
The metal is reinforced.
Within every insult and down-casting,
A small arm keeps you up.
At the most ground and veracious assault,
Every wall will hold firm.
And even in the agonizing torture,
Hope will heal your wounds.
Hope is a damp blanket,
Not cold, nor lukewarm.
It penetrates into your fear,
And begins to heart itself up,
The flame growing brighter inside,
Repairing and reforming,
And holding onto you no matter what.
As your darkness closes in,
It flows from within,
Illuminating you,
Making you its own shining star.
The moment you think it is no longer there,
It enlightens your stupor,
Ripping apart the talons holding you,
Molding into your sword and shield,
It becomes your greatest aide,
And will defeat all adversaries.
Some say it comes from God,
Some say luck,
Other argue fate,
And destiny.
No matter where hope may be,
No matter who dare to triumph or possess it,
Hope is the same,
Wherever it is,
For it comes from within.
The act of having it fade,
Is seconded only to heartbreak.
Yet hop is never truly torn out,
It is only the mind,
Believing it is gone,
Blocking your connection with it,
While your fooled into believing,
It is gone.
Yet hope does not leave.
Hope only dissipates,
Disperses within you.
Hope doesn’t flow out of you,
For you’re body only breaks it apart,
And makes it appear as if
It is gone.
Hope doesn’t leave you,
For it is a sheet of damp blanket,
And once torn apart,
It can be sowed back together again.
While hope, unlike love,
Is not inherited.
It can be passed on,
Yet not skip into generations.
Hope is more unique then that,
Hope can be shared,
Transferred,
Given up,
And hope can flow deep inside you.
It can awaken your animal cravings to survive,
And can either thrive,
Or writhe.
When you fear for the worst,
Await for the flame in your heart,
And you’ll see.
Courage and hope are easy,
Once you realize you’re not alone.
That hope will never abandon you,
Simply look into that flame in your heart.
Inside us all,
Deep within your soul,
If you look to the light in you,
In your heart,
The roaring yet tranquil flame,
It beats the coldest spell of fear,
And fills up your entire being.
Warms the most frozen,
Allows you to revitalize,
Hope is both liberating,
And renewing.
Hope can save even the most lost,
It does not segretate.
Love is for all,
As is your hope.
Hope knows no bounds,
And is even here now.
Hope.
