Poetry is turning out to be a very cathartic medium, I should do this more often.
Set the Mood
Bodies of the sick have been piled high,
Upon a truck driving into afternoon skies.
Hope is now seeming like a sweet little lie,
So much so that I could nearly cry.
From the right to the left, and then back again,
The end to this madness we want to know when.
Hope is but a dream, a distant friend,
And where we need it now there is only a then.
Violence and pain brought down on our head,
Bad news seems all there is to be read.
Hope is the only thing between us and the dead,
Rest in peace to those who on the way were bled.
Darkness has fallen over all of my thoughts,
The love I should feel within my heart rots.
Hope hidden by vitriol the landscape it dots,
About time we came up with some hope-bearing plots.
Even in the oft-barren hellscape of life,
We find reasons to believe there's end to the strife.
Hope can be brought by the end of a knife,
Or we can fill all with our love so rife.
I find my place in the eyes of my son,
It is for him my every battle is won.
Hope is his reward less important than none,
And he shall receive it, or I'll never be done.
Hush now my boy, and don't shed a tear,
Let your father burn away all of your fear.
Hope is so close, oh it is so near,
And I'll make the path to it so very clear.
Everyone Pales in Comparison to His All-Encompassing Importance
To say that my son is the most important thing in the world to me would be an egregious understatement. He is my hope, he is the reason I better myself, and he is the only reason this world is worth making better for everyone. Where there is the darkness that poisons my soul, he is the shining light that cleanses me.
In your darkest of times may you always find that shining light to guide you back to hope.