i've seen what little hope i could
in scripture,from the wise,
in all that breathe,in all that thrive
and each time,when i crest
these knolls of shortlived euphory
mounted in hope of the best
my dead weary soul is discarded
at the bottom of bogged despair,a fitful rest
and at each spot of my dismal retirement,
raised in acknowledgement,poetry in testimony of a failed
test
ring such words as bitter as weedsap
a nonwithstanding requirement for an everlasting predicament.