Nobody knows tomorrow 

1. 15
   Mar
   

   Were There Hope - Mark Slaughter

   I was never in a league of noble gentlemen
   To whom she’d cast polite and flitting smiles,
   Only distant hope and dying dreams for me!
   Or perhaps descent into a game of wiles

   To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights
   With her angelic presence to declare;
   Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,
   And I in awe of blonde cascades of hair.

   But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire
   To haunt me for an age and evermore, for
   How could I expect to hold her silken hand
   When I am but a soulless ghost of yore?