Stained Hope


You spill hope onto the windowpane
Leave it stained with grace, and every day,
you come running to see if anything has changed.
Paper blankets and stolen stones
bring you scattered bits of remnants torn
from the darkened gaze you once had learned to love.
Now a fleeting bird call turns to ash
and you hug your hopes before they're dashed.
Far below, the beating sounds of distant drums.
Stand with e-lec-tric-al sockets burning in your pockets to
knock out any opponent in a moment's glance, in a moment's dance.
And all the weariness that banks inside
past your hidden griefs and wasted times
serves to crash around a falling shore of lies.
See, the waltz with Bitterness has fallen prey
to a taut and strained, but restful place
where you place starlight in the sky for all the reasons left alive.
Sparkle down onto that windowpane;
open space for dreams still left today.
Reawaken every stirring in your soul.
Catch a wondrous glance as you rush on by,
racing to meet the endless stream of sky
pouring silver pools of radiant, glowing light.

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