The Eternal Curse

Hope;
A soaring creature within us looking with freedom towards the ever expanding horizon,
A slow quiet buildup after our wings have been cut.
No more flying,
No sky to hold you.
Only earth to weigh you down.
The same earth that will one day cradle you within your lonely forgotten coffin.
Under a rock that bears a name no one remembers.
Or visits,
Or cares about.
Yet there you are,
Planted and laid out,
Still looking up.
Even when Death’s cold hands have embraced you,
The sky calls,
And forever closed eyes see it.
And mourn.
For hope ever within us,
Rages on,
Screaming,
Crying,
Making a mockery of our pain.
That which should save us and drive us to a new dawn,
Never stops.
Even when the Fates have turned away from us,
And neatly cut all our threads.
There is still hope.
Like a disease,
A feeling as fatal as any life born.
Urging us to push though our horrors and invite a feigned optimism,
In the face of inevitability.
Hope is the true curse.
The Gods’ joke upon the masses.
And when poor curious Pandora released untold evils into the world,
Hope was the last one.
Deceptive expectation,
Presented as a gift,
For you to do just one thing;
Hope.