Poem -

Hope

Hope

This wooden harp carved by the gods, is gently stroked by her.
With her golden locks that unlock her graceful music she plays.
She hovers over the battlefield after the dark and gray days.
Her pleasant melodies
guides the dead soldiers spirit to her hypnotic harp.
Her heavenly song picks up pace to add to this end of days race,
striking hard on few sharps causing this gray clouds to part.
The wind slightly strokes her long white robe
that lost soul glides to for a grain of hope.
Her angelic voice, forces the sun to shine brighter,
making damage soul feel lighter.
While death and decay fester under her, she brings
peace and peace of mind to the now goneĀ 
with her unchain melody.
Hope is her name and love is what she plays.
No cost to her music...
Hope come when everything is lost.
Nevertheless, if you hear her singing her sweet melody... You might be lost!

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