How precarious is life; how violent, mere hope.
In the mortal world in which we live, forever is
but a sentiment of fondness, hopefulness,
wishful thinking, desire for continuation.
Forever, here, with future ever future, hope may
be fulfilled, but only thus – beyond wish, desire,
longing, craving, anticipation, surpassing whim –
faith superseded, belief enlivened, reality assured.
When belief is actuality, faith becomes endeavour,
hope becomes strategy. Perhaps if but for hope
the heart would break; but were it not for belief,
unfailing, the heart would surely find no healing.