Hope
~ a pair of sonnets

It all began with Hope, that sightless muse,
Who in her blindness sought to grasp the stars.
She held them in her hands and tore them down,
And left the midnight sky a pool of scars.
Our brightest minds thought better of her plan.
We knew that muse would lead us all to nil.
And yet we acquiesced to her demands,
For gems and ore, it seems, shine brighter still.
We wished ourselves good fortune and good fate,
Although the Fates were hidden from our eyes.
And thus set sail the expeditious muse,
So hopeful that she'd soar beyond the skies.
We flew where even angels dare not tread,
But once arrived, so swift our blind guide fled.

Dread visions there no verse can apprehend.
No rhyme can seize the horrors of that plane.
Our wildest nightmares seemed but happy dreams.
But oh, such power coursed that cursed domain!
Upon that tainted pow'r we gorged ourselves,
Its endless flow continually refreshed.
We fed it to the untouched planes below.
It fed, in turn, on land and air and flesh.
Across the planes sad cries of anguish rang.
We felt their pain and bore their misery.
A muse of sorrow touched our hearts that day.
The rest, as scholars say, is history.
Salvation now lies far beyond our scope,
And so, for now, all we can do is hope.