He tried to write

And kept trying all night…

The writer was dead,

Leaving behind untold tales to be read,

He tried to rewrite these tales somehow,

With the writer gone, he was clueless now.

For his thoughts weren’t the same as that of the writer,

He was a coward at heart, not really a fighter,

Tales of courage were not meant to be written by him,

All he could think of, were words too grim.

And yet he tried, all night they say,

Pages written and torn till the first light of day,

Some day he will write and complete the writers old tale..

Hopefully someday he will succeed and not eventually fail.

Hope – That moves him..

Hope – A light , in his world – so grim,

Hope – His power, his essence, his survival tool,

Hope – The only wisdom, of this thoughtless fool.

Someday he will write and complete it all,

Someday he will rise and not succumb to another fall.