I haven't lost very many things in my life. A few relatives have been taken by God's greedy hands, but that's something I can't control. A person can lose physical objects, I do it all the time. I mean, just three seconds ago I couldn't find my headphones when they were, in fact, already on my head. No, physical objects aren't the problem. The problem is losing hope.
When there is nothing left, I have hope. When every inch of my being is screaming for a way out, I have hope. When I sit crying in my bathroom with a razor on my hand, I still have hope. When I try and let in death's cold embrace, I have hope there protecting me, lighting my way. But what happens when this silent protector is overpowered? When I'm at my deepest, lowest, most lonely moments, all I have left is hope. That's the only thing I have when I have nothing. The problem is I'm losing it.
Hope was that thing with feathers perched on my soul. She'd sang me endless tunes, filled with happiness and joy.They were wordless and simple, as the simple notes she sang kept me sane. Hope had fought through every season and every storm that passed and she made that perch her home. As she grew stronger each day, I did as well. Soon I began to blossom into a great Oak. More and more winged animals would join Hope, they were called Happiness, Joy, and Love and the four of those things with feathers lived contently perched on my soul. They'd sing beautiful harmonies together and they made me happy. However, on a fine summer night, a beast appeared, a mechanical hound with no master. It was dark and spewed smog and other pollutions in the air, in my mind, and blocked out the sun. My soul began dying and as did the animals' home. If that wasn't enough, the chrome monster let lose and destroyed me, destroyed my soul. The first to die was Joy. The hound, with its nose inches from the ground, knew the winged animals were wounded and couldn't fly and it sniffed out Happiness and tore her to shreds. Love, was without a home, She was far too wounded to look for Hope and had no companions to sing with. She soon gave up, and Love died of loneliness. Hope was the only one left. She fluttered around, searching for her companions, unaware of their deaths. She dodged the mechanical monster on a number of times, fighting to look for her lost friends. However, Hope's wings began to grow tired. With no soul to perch on, she had to keep flying and sooner she began to drift closer and closer to the ground, closer and closer to the mechanical hound with no master. She began to believe that her friends were never to be found. She believed there to be no purpose. Hope knew she couldn't sing nearly as well without her friends by her side. Slowly, and subconsciously she drifted closwer and closer to the animal's jaws, which were wide open waiting for her. Hope was falling down. Hope was leaving me. Hope, my hope, the bird perched on my soul who sang me endless tunes stayed silent. It was on that day, that fine summer day, I had lost Hope.
So what do I do with no hope? What is my purpose? Hope was my last defense against every vile thought and action I have. I know my arsenal is wearing down.
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