Hope (Less)

We are all children of death; begot in silence; born in darkness. 

Death is our mother; silence our womb; darkness our home. 

We gestate an eternity in the cool comforting love of or mother. 

Then when forever ends, we are born and with us is born our shadow.

Time. 

Forever has he been smothered in the silent womb by our slumber. Now,he breaks free with our awakening, our birth. He runs besides us with feet of day and night. Every breath of ours he steals jealously, this ill favoured twin of ours.

Unmindful of this, we, the nascent child, enticed by light, by life we crawl forth. We breathe, dream, dare and do. Life catches us in his capricious embrace, spins us in the air and folds us in his arms. We, the morning dew of an age's dawn melt in the gaze of his sun. He makes us his bride and we swoon in his kiss. With passionate fire we lust after him. Our soul yields and spreads to receive his numerous seeds of desire. We multiply in deeds, good, bad, small, large...

All this he watches, our twin Time. He eggs us on with anxiety, with fear, from one spell of life to another. For life throws no favour at him, nor does death bother him. Alone he dwells, this Time and in his loneliness, he broods and devours our days in envy.

Then in an hour, the thrall passes, the charm pales, all the gold turns to dust. And in that hour, cometh the hour of Time! 

Life, who drinks forever from the fountain of youth mocks at us, who's youth is forever drunk by time. Our weakness wearies life, our wrinkles annoy him. His heart flits about and he finds a new soul to dole out his passion.

We lie in sorrow alone, while finally Time mocks at our loneliness. But not alone. For in sorrow there is but darkness and silence. Home beckons and we gratefully crawl into our cold comforting graves. Death our mother is always there, patient and infinite in her love.

Hope is not the thought that one day we can build castles to the sky. Hope is the thought that even our castles will find peace in the dust... One day.