This following poem could be considered to be morbid. And I would tell you the story behind it, but that story is still in progress, and I consider it to be a hot situation, currently (though it is rapidly cooling). If you really want the full story, contact me in a different way other than through this blog. Thanks.
"Stillborn Hope"
by Neil Mullins
An out-of-pace heart
Once found something new in the mind
And, taking hold of it, it seduced this thing...
Then, it started to produce hope, started to pine...
But this thing, not being based
In the Real Truth that the heart believed at the core
When this thing was traced...
Still, the hope came, but it was, and is stillborn.
False white hopes
They plague our hearts so much
And when they are found
It's like a punch in the face, a kick in the head
In all truth and actuality
This heart of which I speak was mine
And though everything else was A-O.K.
It was when I started to pine... that I felt far from God
But then my saved soul reached out
And found His hand, and I found
The real, true, and great wondrous Hope
In His Love, and Mercy that lasts to the end.
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