pushing back the darkness
with a little lightness of heart-
is a warrior for happiness-
practicing the art.

from ash to soul and soul to ash,
a continuation of life ever-last;
dancing with hexahedron hierarchy --
eating off epidemic oligarchy --

we've crowned a fool, with saviours in town;
our eyes in wool, 'til we turn around,
with eyes of indigo, soaring free,
an extra sight within the trees...

soon each shape moulds together as one,
like scattered stars at midnight come,
an image emerges from the light,
which unveils such a splendid sight:

the fall of kings, the rise of queens
and all the other fragile things;
love and beauty on the tongue,
swivelled down into the lungs,

knowing not what to become,
the cringe of fear resides in some;
hide inside a box with ***
until the waking morning comes...

it's time to rise: wake up! wake up!
leave your box, dispose of cups;
out of the office, into vast love
of a day which is anew, because --

the dark is done if you wish to banish;
revolution is not so outlandish,
when fish merely roam in schools of thought,
with nothing ever truly taught,

until one day, the shark will come,
and cause you to despise your ***,
your weak hand, and your menace,
for all is well when there is penance,

"for they know not what they do...",
leader to people, as lion to shrew;
abolishing all antiquity
in order to reach sublimity.

A walk upon the waters; nigh
Shalt not split thy vein
Lest furtive glances; sigh
To bear upon His Name.

What twills apart my Being
Must extricate a feeling
Is truly trying triumph
For brew upon the brow.

If moorings mast is cracking
then ****** upon the wind
for deeper trust be lacking
my Bow I must rescind.

a Keeper of her stables
should roll up bales of hay
a Reader of her Fables
would wish to port her Bay

Make for meager living
In a time as starkly stout
To climb upon the mountain
Into the tempest, Shout!!

A single last scarlet autumn leaf, still clinging to the branch despite knowing that winter is coming. Maybe doomed, but a noble thing to do with its last moments of existence. To stay by the side of the tree through the cold when it is almost entirely bare. A spark of hope.

A single last petal left on a plucked daisy, he loves me. Maybe not true but a delicate type of fragile beauty. A single silken pure white petal. A spark of hope.

A single last person by the bedside of a stranger on their deathbed. Holding the hands of the terminal patient as life fades out of their body like blowing out a candle. A spark of hope.

It only takes a single last spark of hope.

Repost if someone has been YOUR single last spark of hope. Or if you just really like to repost stuff, then you go on and feel free to do that! I fully support that! ;P
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my poetry or your thoughts on my work or on poetry itself as an art! :)