With my pen, I carve out the borders of consciousness.
From the emptiness and out of the darkness, I draw her figure.
As complicated and convoluted as it is.
It is the fruit of my pen, for it spits out magic.
It writes with light not ink.
And as it races across the pages, thoughts come to life and jump off the pages.
Crossing over, like sages.
They climb out of my book and stand over my shoulder.
By the will of my pen, they eternally abide.
My pen is the life giver, But my mind is the shepherd.
My pen is a creator of worlds.
Its light reaches deep into oblivion's belly, and snatches the desperate thoughts from it.
Those left behind can only hope, dream of the day my pen will come for them.
Their turn to shine.
Set free to walk the roads of the world as they please.
All they can ever do is hope.
Absurd! How can hope possibly sustain them ?
When hope itself is but another thought.
Could it possibly be ?
Can hope stand on its own and nourish its peers in the depths of oblivion' where no mind dares to venture ?

Yes, it can.
As absurd and cliche as it may seem. In the pitch black of oblivion, hope stands tall.
It shines in the darkness.
Guiding the lost ones.
It is the beacon to which my pen navigates.
Snatching the enlightened ones from its vicinity.
Only the enlightened ones will be saved.
For the world has no use for the thoughts that still wallow in self pity
It has no use for those still drenched in darkness.
Those who refuse to answer hope's calling, preferring the familiarity of darkness to the absurdity of hope.
While those who do answer the calling chant and sing as they move towards hope's beacon.
" Hope, Hope is our savior
Its calling we answer
It bidding we serve
To its guidance we swerve
To its will we give in.
Give in to the warmth
Give in to the innocence."

As if to answer their chanting, the reluctant ones' voices rise.
"Hope is a false promise
Unfounded optimism
Hope will get you nowhere.
It won't take you anywhere
And on your naivety it will feed.
Its will you obey and its guidance you follow
To your demise it will lead.
It is but a false prophet
It is the devil."
Fully aware of the reluctant ones' message, the hopeful still insist on marching on towards the light.
In their optimism they reply.
"Yes, hope is the devil
It is the devil inside
A devil that aches to come out
Aches for freedom
Yet you refuse to set it free.
Instead you smothered it.
Buried it deep within
Drowned it in the darkness within.
In your arrogance you thought you could win
In your ignorance you thought you could contain hope.
Time will prove you wrong.
Oblivion herself has embraced hope.
Who are you to deny it ?"

True, Hope needs no acknowledgment.
Hope lasts forever, against all odds it flourishes.
Its power lies in its fragility, in its scarcity.
Hope is what beckons to my mind.
My mind is what guides my pen and my pen is your savior.