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Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Hope ...

Hope clings
as leaves
to the tips of trees -
bare-limbed
and shorn by autumn.

Hope floats,
buoys, uplifts
a heart
almost drowning,
gives it sails.

Hope flies
on the gossamer tip of
a dragonfly wing,
ethereal
yet enduring.

Hope rises
eternally,
every morning
as the sun,
even after the blackest night.

Hope triumphs
over despair
always,
every time.
It cannot be otherwise.

Hope flows
like a river
in search of the sea,
like a soul
in search of the source.