This story only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

What lonely night is this when
Hope comes a-knocking at my door?
Her whispers through the oaken barricade
Push my dreams into realms of fear.

Fear of pain and
Fear of remembrance;
Fear of lonely, sneering echoes;
Fear that what I once believed in
Will never be my precious gift;
Fear that loving, gentle kisses
Will never grace my ugly lips,
That what is normal for those who live
Will never be my reality now.

Every year Hope comes a-knocking,
And every year I let her in.
It's not that I open the oaken barricade,
But that she pours herself through
The cracks in the wood.

She slithers in on moonlight shafts
That pierce the cold, old floor;
She winks at me with starry twinkle,
Laughing with her ancient wit;
She carves her name upon my soul
Before she breaks it with a promise
That I will never hold.

For she places burning gold into my hands
And snatches it away
Before it lights my heart's brazier
To roasting, roaring open flame.
These sparks are what I have until
They fade into the night,
As she flits and skips out of the
Wide open oaken barrier,
Giggling in stardust trails of
What will never be.

Until the next time
Hope comes a-knocking,
A-knocking at my door...

This story only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.