Alarmists and Shadows

The forefathers fought for freedom,

For their dreams, shadows turn to boredom,

While whispers, hearts as cold,

Scoundrels embrace thugs as disillusions take hold.

In fleeting hopes, tender flame dim,

Doubts float, like specters loom in silent air,

Untruths weld, scattered on the whims,

Of cynics' tongues, in stages of bleak despair.

For those who've tasted bitterness profound,

Have seen the hollow echoes of their trust,

Belief and Christ become a currency unwound,

A legal tender trade, then turned to shoes and dust.

Within the depths of alarmists dark nights,

Amidst the wreckage of what never was true,

No flicker lingers to ignite feeble lights,

No spark of hope in hearts of those who once knew.

In the depths of deception's sway,

Seeds of hate that have taken hold, still grow,

Their loathing may not falter, nor fade away,

Love only blooms in hearts that dare the truth to know.

So, hold this truth in the bowels of the gloom,

That even in the face of shattered dreams,

Belief endures, dispelling shades of doom,

A beacon in the night, however dim it seems.