She sneaks up on her unsuspecting victims,
one minute you're alone,
the next she's there.
Like the smell of smoke,
she clings to her victims,
desperately refusing to let go.
She's as cunning as a snake,
forever possessing an air of mystery,
same as a master at his own game.
Like the first puff of a perfume,
her presence is noticeable to all,
whether intentionally or by chance.

Like a worker returning home after a long day,
knowing not the time when her perfume scent left,
except knowing with clarity that it's gone,
so is her victim after her departure,
and like an experienced armed robber,
she's always sure to leave her victims deserted.
She can never be caught,
she has no mode of description,
only her effects are visible,
she comes and goes like a rushing wind,
leaving no knowledge of the next attack,
Her name is Hope.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem