Hope

Time, beautiful time,

the self professed tester

of human adaptability

swings me every day

between success and failure

and sleep brings no release

for I bear the weight of dreams

until the awakening

of enlightenment

I’m here in the everyday

cut and chip of soul

from static pose to flying mode

uncertain where I’ll fall

but fine filigrees of hope

crossing over in the dark

a safety net and soft landing

for the fallen and bereft.

Like a homemade mish-mash stew

I’m dished up from old to new

and if my heart should drop,

it lands uninjured and intact

into the lap of hope.

Hope’s a very splendid thing,

it dies and comes alive;

have you ever wondered why?