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.
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.
True, dear Allahdeen. And its Faith, faith in the immortal infinite Self, that gives keeps it going...right?
ReplyDeleteBeautiful lines. Hope is the eternal spring in us that pushes forth a bud even in our autumnal sorrows. Hope makes each day of our mundane existence colorful. It gives us the power to dream, fulfill our ambitions, seek greener pastures and revel in our joys. Hope is the engine that drives us forward. As Emily Dickinson sang:
ReplyDelete“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.”