Hope was an Angel, beautiful as dream,
As kind as only an Angel can be,
Golden locks of hair - cascading sunbeam -
Framed her attractive face adorably.
Her mission was to save Man anywhere,
Be it in deep water or precipice,
Showing the world how heavens would care,
How heavens would give Man shining auspice.
She was gentle, generous and all giving,
Bringing kind relief to desperate Man
-With an angelic nature, forgiving -
As only a beautiful Angel can.
She was sent to my aid to rescue me,
When dark despair above me closed the lid,
Arrived in time to keep me company,
Preventing, into the abyss, my skid.
I asked her fervently, begged her to stay
In my bed. Asked if there was any hope.
She smiled at me, wanting nothing to say,
Before replying with a simple: “Nope!”
I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream,
- The sun painted the sky in scarlet dawn -
I woke up, realised it was a dream…
…And there wasn’t a dream left when Hope was gone…
© P. J. Oszmann (2003) (Developed from a sketch written in Hungarian in 1951)
[Illustration: Photo of a Stained Glass Window (Public Domain)]