Pillars
A cold wind blown
upon the pillars on which I stand
Firmly grasping within myself
remnants of a long dead hope
reanimating the will to cope

That as these pillars sinking deeper
into a chasm of swampy sand
I lay before my one creator
and raise to him an outstretched hand
the one and final hope of man

Before him hope had driven through
Love and peace went with the sun
and all that stands as pillars fall
when faith in man is dead and gone
one deed alone, the blood of one

So I stand, descending down
upon my pillars high and tall
Works of years through sweat and tears
and still I'll sink till none is left
into mud ridden swampy depths

So I build, but I can see
in the end futility
In heights I rise, the cold grows fierce
and winds pick up, down I fall
My columns sink, and so does all

A risen hope within the one
set to revive the rising sun
And raise one high, and set one free
tales of old I hear and see
Is this all mere fantasy?