Hope Is In The Air

Solitude.
He spoke of solitude.
But oh! How a man can want what he does not have,
Until all illusions are left behind in the silence that broke his soul.
And gone is he now,
Into a darkness greater than night,
Where only the hand of a stranger can pull him from its depths.
Depths that drown the weak,
And slowly fill the lungs of those who fight for air.
It is only the wise who hold their breath, awaiting the hand of hope;
For he lives in the air we breath.

And it is he who always comes.