Hope died one day,
Singing of a lost December
I mourned the empty space it left,
The pain of cracked flesh and a broken soul.
I swept up its ashes in a golden box hidden among the darkest corners of my heart.
It grew again
Small and pure, a golden ball of light.
I take it out sometimes -when the world isn't looking-
And watch it swirl and spread its golden tendrils up my arms.
I'll keep it safe, hidden under the memories with the bitter taste of experience

Until the day my castles rise and my floors flood gold
Again.