Is Hope Lost-

Where is the innocence? 

Like the cry of a new-born, –

The sweet agony of joyful pain,

The soft furrows of the elderly as it’s pelted lightly

By the soft touch of the wind.

The baby’s cry grounds the feeling of my upbringing,

Upbeat test of cleverly feasts,

It dawns on them as mindset drifts:

Towards the importance of what’s being;

Towards the ignorance of what’s keen;

Towards the milestone of where we’ve been;

Towards the inclination of what’s a win;

Towards the daunting identity of what’s supreme;

Towards the rate at which we fathom what we speak;

Towards the design of the desire of which we seek;

Seamless ways to go about what we dream;

Outdated passion for what we’ll truly be;

Impending danger of what we can’t really see;

The jubilee of the moment’s dancing scene;

The visible hopelessness of a sight that’s dim;

It’s so happens we all loved what we couldn’t be.

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