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.
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