Fires of hope

Gaze upon the flame, do not tread to close.

I sit and stare toward the future. Each second tics idly by. Hope is the construct that turns the mighty gears. Driving us ever onward, towards the dark unknown. Moments drift by, snow in a falling storm. We grasp and we claw, trying to hold onto the ones so dear. Open your hands and look. Nought but ash remains. In our quest to grip tightly to what we have, we spoil it and turn it sour. Those things we love so much, and try so hard to cherish, slip through fingers, sand dropping grain by grain. Love will fade, and slip past us. Yet still we hope, and turn the gears of time. For hopes our greatest weapon, and the worst thing we can have. Hope will blind you, and tear your heart anew. Our hope spurns us, and cuts us to the core. Yet hope can be the beacon, that shines in bitterest of nights. Hope is but a construct, created by our minds. As we age, the light hope grows dim. We see our past loves, and weep longful tears. We cannot recapture what we've lost, to hopes fearful flame. Some try to escape, and in doing so, they carve out a new pain in the hearts of those they knew. Pain, sorrow and hope, walk together hand in hand. Our failings and our victories, will perish to the flame. We cannot escape the webs of hope and time. The harder we all struggle, the tighter it will bind. For to live is to hope, to love, to hurt, to blame. Read these words now written, and do not be afraid. Live your life not grasping, but instead, let the snow blow by. Those truly precious moments, will drift and pile around you. There they shall remain.