THEIR HOPES

There are ways that seems farther than they are near,
Nearer will you imagine these ways,
The ways of deaths-tination, not destination.
The way of perdition not perfection.
The ways which our ancestors thread when on a short journey to a distant journey,
The ways which tends never to end but elangates as it is being threaded.
But these roads only brings woe and sorrow to the threader.

 

The fate of our ancestors were clinged to this mirage,
Cause, they waited in vain, they waited,
They wasted and strained their veins, they wasted,
They hoped on flashy things only, but all was mirage,
Their expectations were soon cut off
Because their strength couldn’t last them any longer
As they walked their bodies to the abode where broken souls thread.

 

Their hopes were dashed, were dashed
As their bodies crashed in the sepulchre
Leaving crumbs of shattered dust on the face of the earth.
.
Their hopes never surfaced.

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� Modest

Photo credit: Peter J Brown