Analysis of False Hope

How quietly the air stirs,
with running breaths and eyes, a blur.
There is a hand— five fingers,
that hold a match to elicit hope,
but the flame is never lit.

Like cinders, disappointment smoulders
burdening smiles and bony shoulders.
The embers, once stoked by feeble hope
fade to dark too quickly,
leaving the dark to consume.

- Asher J. Bond