What warmth comes in the darkness?
What truth comes in the lies?
When life is like a circus
Or when hope in passing dies?
What purpose in the fog now lies
the feeble mind doth wonder
the man, now broken, softly cries
His life is torn asunder.
He walks a teetering, narrow path
with traps, with fear, with strife
and what, he wonders, shows him wrath
and pounds upon his life.
A gripping hand, of malice grim
now holds him to his thoughts
though he has risked his life and limb
the end, he knows, is wrought.
And when he’ll reach that final place
he know not what will start
will hope fall on his sorry race?
or cold, fall on his heart?
Poetry
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