The Refined Hope Poem by Ephraim Meon Masache

Beneath the glow of gilded dreams,
Hope dons a suit, its thread so fine,
Polished, poised, with regal schemes,
Yet dances blind, to fate's design.

It whispers soft, 'Oh, triumph near! '
While shadows cast their cunning play,
A beacon bright, yet rooted here,
In fleeting truths that slip away.

Refined, it stands, so proud, so grand,
A shield against the tempest's cry,
Yet crumbles swift, like grains of sand,
When met with life's unblinking eye.

But still it reigns, the cherished spark,
A jest of light in hollowed guise,
Refined hope thrives within the dark,
A noble lie we idolize.