The Last Evil

Hope, the final shard of the box, remained,
Not a blessing, but a quiet tether,
Binding the will, a silken chain unseen,
Whispering promises through hollow winds,
The evils now roam free, clawing the earth,
And still, they hold to what was left inside.

Inside, they hold to what was left,
The earth clawing free evils now roam,
Through hollow winds, whispering promises,
A silken chain unseen, binding the will,
Not a blessing, but a quiet tether—
Hope, the final shard of the box, remained.

The box of Hope, remained shard-like,
An anchor tied to despair’s subtle breath.
Action waits, lulled in its hypnotic hum,
Hands falter, waiting on stars to align.
The cycle repeats, unbroken, a spell cast,
Inside and out, the box is never empty.

Empty is never the box; out and inside,
A spell cast unbroken repeats the cycle.
Align stars to waiting hands falter, hum,
Hypnotic in its waits; action breathes subtle,
To despair tied, an anchor of Hope.
Shard-like, remained, the box of the final.

The final breath of Pandora’s folly,
Hope weaves its lie into mortal veins,
“Better will come,” it whispers so sweet,
Yet better never comes, just the waiting.
Palindromic is its promise, circling
Forever, always, back to the same song.

Song the same to back, always, forever.
Circling promise its palindromic waiting,
The just comes never better; sweet whispers,
It will better, "Come," so mortal veins lie.
Into its weave Hope folly Pandora breathes,
The final shard, the box of evils remains.

Hope remains—the illusion unchanged,
Its promise a mirror of stillness.