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have long since lost Hope, because my paths are so endlessly
long and aimless, as if sculpted out of my restless spirit in
the long nights of reverie. You know, Lord... I used to have my
Hope. It was so nice to stand next to the Christmas tree with my
mother, and look at its proud top, where our silver star shone,
my favorite Hope.  To me, a child who never decorated his own
tree, it was the biggest Christmas tree in the world, and the
brightest star beyond the heavenly dome. Each night before
Christmas we would return to the same place with the same desire
and faith, until our terrible companions, the long, cold nights
have invoked death and stolen my mother. I am motionlessly
standing and staring into this dark, cold night, like an avenger
yearning for revenge, and a thin woman in rags is passing me by,
whispering warm words into a child's frozen ear. The child is
looking up with the same gaze like I did when my mother used to
show me the silve