HOPE

I have a poem..
Not for the survivors
But for the surviving
Trudging the desert of life
Living in desolation
Breeding loneliness from the inside
Coping with frustration
Double-dating anger and sadness

I have a poem...
Not for those eating with ten fingers,
but for those living from hands to mouth.
No, not for those born with a golden spoon,
but for those born with a wooden spoon
Yet, lost it to a burning roof
It's a slake-lime for the coughing,
an antidote for the poisoned
a curing herb for the sick,
a chilling pill for the bewildered,
a new song for the broken hearted.

Yes! I have a poem...
Not for warriors on the battlefield,
But for the soldiers of love
whose soulmate flee without a warning
to help stop the hands of time,
as their brains pump blood faster than their hearts.
And to whom professes of love have turned sour for,
to help add honey to their sourpous mind
as the promises of fidelity turns out a deceit.

This poem I have...
You need not check the calendar
Cos I have no hidden agenda,
neither an intention of rewriting the past
just want to make a clear cast,
to simply help erase the ‘less’
Written at the back of hopeless.