We worship heroes,
Gods of the past,
But they'll never last.

Religion of fortunes.
A Hollywood.
We should? Could? Would?

Heal the wounds
of the teary-eyed.
A kiss for a sigh.

They lie in their beds
like birds without wings.
Their sorrow sings.

Nevermore, they say.
Weeping. "Not again"
Sleeping. Until then.

Black kisses in
the raging fires,
blazing desires.

Here, tales of true love
are dreamy glories;
just made-up stories.

Hammer to the heart,
beating too quickly.
Soul looking sickly.

Peace, my love. Hope comes.
A knock, a phone call:
Baseless hopes, all.