Hope That Kills

We live where morning never comes, Ten thousand hearts beneath the dust. The world is framed in dirty glass, A silent grave we dare not pass. No child has felt the rain descend, No old man knows how blue begins. We count the floors, obey the bells, And call these buried walls our world. Then someone finds a page of sky, A little proof the past could lie. One whispered word climbs iron stairs: “What if there is still life up there?” It’s the hope that kills - Not at first, not until Every locked door feels like chains, Every warning feeds the flame. When the whole Silo dreams as one, Ten thousand feet will chase the sun. The air stays still, the people run - It’s the hope that kills. Another stairwell heard that cry: “Follow me - the world’s alive.” A green flag rose, the great door turned; They crossed the hill and never returned. Now empty levels drink the dark, Rust keeps their names, dust keeps their marks. Freedom wore a poisoned face, And left no witness in its place. So hide the relic, dim the screen, Erase each field, each shade of green. Is mercy just a careful lie When truth can send us out to die? It’s the hope that kills - Not at first, not until Every locked door feels like chains, Every warning feeds the flame. When the whole Silo dreams as one, Ten thousand feet will chase the sun. The air stays still, the people run - It’s the hope that kills. But if we bury every why, Are we alive - or kept alive? What is a home that fears a door? What are we saving people for? A spark can warm, a spark can spread, It lights the path; it counts the dead. Hope is not kind. Hope is not still. Give it a crowd - and hope can kill. It’s the hope that kills - And the hope that keeps us still. We fear the lock, we fear the key, We fear what truth will make us see. When one survives beyond the hill, The quiet learn they have a will. We need the light; we fear it still - It’s the hope that kills. On the screen, the dead world lies. Behind our eyes, a living sky.