A study in Poetry

Hope

A young pilgrim wanders the world,
A place now silent, dark, and cold.
Equipped with only a map and a lamp,
the pilgrim begins to grow tired as the mountainous terrain becomes damp.

Winds push back a force not to be reckoned with,
As the pilgrim loses footing, hope becomes a myth.
The wind had killed the lamps fire.
Blinded away from the faithful map, the situation becomes dire.

Lost,
Life demands a cost.
The pilgrim, only one could save.
His name was Dave,

An old broken yet wise voice from beyond the grave.
He spoke tired, but true
"You know no hope in life,
do not do what I have done, do not meet the scythe."

The wind blew yet again with great prejudice,
Cold as ice.
The pilgrim stood for a moment,
As the silence was again present.

Like the wind, thoughts blew through
"Perhaps the advice was true"
A spark ignites within the lamp.
The ground, no longer damp.

The pilgrims reality meets imagination.
Submission.
"No more,
You have the floor."

Like a burning desire
There was then a small fire.
The map, clear as day.
With the mountain tamed, grass is found with the faint scent of hay.

It lead to a pocket of daylight within a cave
The moment saved,
Forever in mind
As the pilgrim continues on the path drawn on the map, which is signed

by Faith.