Hope Rising

Hope Rising

In my last poem, I wrote of turbulent waters, a ship breaking apart, her scattered remains and broken pieces floating to the bottom of a dark sea. I wanted to write Hope into it but found none.

Where does Hope come from? From the dawn? Does it wake with the sun or is it ever present in our hearts, even at death? Then there is God, bringer of Hope Eternal – Hope supernatural. But I’m talking about plain old everyday Hope, the kind that’s a small patch of light to take a step by. The kind that barely shows through our shutters, that’s just a thread. Even it is enough.

Hope Rising

Heart wakes, Hope rising

On wings of new dawn

Patches of light pulling

Easing through drifting clouds

Floating through the sparkling sea

Lifting, lighting my eyes

Opening its doors

Awakening in my soul, a passion

Threads of life stitched together by stars

Sun sparkling on the sandy shore of dreams.


Hope is the crystal blue of a mother’s eyes, the clear sky blue of a robin’s egg, a spring day. Hope is the sweet smell of cookies baking, warm chocolate chip. Hope is ice cream cones, warm blankets, soft feather pillows. Hope is comfort, home. Hope is also new, like just finished laundry smelling of lavender & cotton. Hope is fresh, wet ink on a crisp page.

Is there Hope in the sea, or does it belong only to the sky? Birds have it in flight, but fish swim fast and glide with it. A heart can glide & fly with even a small bit of Hope. “First star on the right and straight on till morn!” I hear Peter saying. Hope is imagination and colours, an entire rainbow full of them. A sky and universe so vast that no human could have created it.

And so I’m back to God, bringer of Hope, Ultimate Caretaker. We light candles for Hope Eternal but too quickly our tiny flames burn out, extinguished by an ever-present wind: Time. We return to the earth yet Hope remains, to wake again with the sun.

Copyright June 29 2016 Stacie Eirich 

Maya Angelou - Hope Quote



Deep blue waters rush underneath

her prow, sails whipped and torn

in harsh, billowing windstorms

an angry tempest of clouds

beneath a white-hot, full moon

a sudden shift, bone-chilling cold breaking through

the breathless heat of a piercing sun.

Frothy waves violently rocking her hull

stern stabbing into sharp black rocks below

ripping her underbelly, tearing apart

her flesh, exposing her splintered insides

shattered pieces of raw timber torn from her deck.

They float among the smooth pink seashells

like so many footprints

fading away

memories sinking to rest

on the dark ocean floor

eventually, her raw debris

washing up onto shore

with the tide.

img_7439_40_41ac+Written in response to the prompt over @Toads, a-sailing-we-will-go.

Copyright June 27 2016 Stacie Eirich