Ode To Premature Ended Life

Dedicated to the suicides of lost dreams… What is this dream that leaves me with baited breath? Waiting, always waiting for hope unfulfilled, the dark tortuous tunnel just gets longer and longer running and running to catch the light; an elusive firefly always out of grasp. How does the soul spill out its pain to those who don’t understand and minimize, always minimize hope unrealized. It is said “hope deferred makes the heart grow sick” and cold, and tired, with sleepless nights and sorrow filling up all the empty spaces, look deep into my eyes, the well of others uncaring filled to the brim with stormy waters, and drifting, cast out on life’s endless seas with no shore in sight, and the lighthouse has gone dark in the night. A Book says, “hope deferred makes the heart grow sick” and hardened from hurt unable to trust again; with arrows shot from judgement’s bow as if you know what it takes to be human again; when being human is knowing when to love and care when reaching out a hand to pull someone up is not a trick to let a victim fall again, but the real illusion is the careless heart thinking it resides in the light when there is no understanding that “hope deferred makes the heart grow sick” because the calloused heart never suffers, so turns away from hope suspended into some identified time endless train tracks through life’s wilderness with valleys of darkness and edges of grief, tottering on the cliff’s fine mortal line unable to fly, soaring and aloft into love’s light. Understand! “Hope deferred makes the heart grow sick.”