Breeze + Epiphany = Trust + Hope = Love?

I am saddened deeply inside as I become a bystander in a war still raging.  Just as the veterans,  I see.
Hell fights heaven with all of it's malice.  Suddenly, I have become a pawn within a game without knowing the rules.  It scares me, but I know that I must follow the directions that are on the tag.

Everything has a purpose it would seem.  Venom is no exception.  Hell used against itself.
And yet that flickering flame of hope seems to ever fade, lower and lower.  Become a breeze, and blow ever so softly, and gently.

For if that candle should go out . . . .

An Epiphany.  Leaves speechless,  yet burning with surprise that swells like the sea.  Perhaps, there has been a point?  Plans within plans.  A path that seems like a scramble, till upon looking back,  is deliberate to the nth degree.

Drawings of blackness from which trust springs unbidden.  I shudder to think . . . what if those drawings had not been there?

Perhaps a game piece all along then, just haven't had a chance to see the board till now.

All on a day of Mourning and Remembrance. . .