Ode to the Idle Hope

Beneath the moon’s pale, watchful eye,

We whisper dreams to the hollow sky;

A lover’s sigh, a beggar’s plea,

Both lost to what could never be.

For hope, untouched by calloused hand,

Is but a ghost in shifting sand;

A phantom’s tease, a siren’s song,

That lulls the weak, yet moves none along.

Oh, fool! To kneel at fate’s cold shrine,

And pray for harvest without the vine;

To clutch the air, to kiss the breeze,

And call it love, yet stay on knees.

The mind’s delight, so sweet, so vain,

A feast of shadows, void of grain.

What use the spark if none dare blow?

What worth the seed if none dare sow?

So rise, you dreamer, shake the dust;

Let hope be steel, not fleeting lust.

For faith unworked is but a lie,

And heaven’s gates won’t open wide

To those who knock, yet will not try.