Wandering through the desert,
A generation has lost.
Proscribed is this holy land,
That would rise through the darkness.
Yet there was hope.
A nation of tyranny,
Would climb upwards and oppress.
Fire, toxic gas, and metal
Would mark the end for many.
Yet there was hope.
The four nations prepared
For the end of all attacks.
A smaller nation quivered
As it stood to fight alone.
Yet there was hope.
All alone in the darkness —
Eyes watering, lips trembling —
His black soul yearns to be free.
A mute voice lets out a cry.
There is hope.
©Copyright 2006
I was challenged to write a “happy” poem, seeing that most of my poetry is rather depressing. Hopefully this be happy enough for my critics. This poem is rather symbolic, but I don’t think it should be too hard to figure out. I decided to not write this one in rhyme or meter because this type of poem didn’t lend itself to form.
I like this line:
“The four nations prepared
For the end of all attacks.
A smaller nation quivered
As it stood to fight alone.
Yet there was hope.”