It was always there
just beneath the surface.
Asleep!
Cold and colorless,
the ugliness covered
by a shimmering
blanket of beauty.
Thin though it may be,
it was the only thing we could see
for the longest time.
Shinning bright in the dimmest light,
majestic in form and scope,
a beacon for those without hope,
who dare to dream
of a better way.
And because it has always been,
it would aways be
a permanence in our life,
or so we thought.
We grew careless and complacent
and the thin veneer began to disappear,
to recede and expose
what lay beneath;
a core of dark resentment,
harsh and implacable,
angry and unmoving,
convinced of the righteousness
of its own scarred bedrock.
We watched as silent spectators,
immobilized by quiet assurance.
And the beauty was gone!
Just a memory now
of what we had and lost.
The lesson learned
at such a cost.
For the air grows hot
as the tempests fly
and the passions rise.
Too late we knew the answer why:
The price of hope we failed to pay,
so we let the dream
just melt away.