My Hope

Through rain in Grey
and flower meadows
under shadows of lilies
and floating clouds
lies, my hope. . .

A hope that I bind to
a butterfly's wings
for a flight going North
atop the regal wind, wind
chiming children's swings
as it takes of their laughter
and adds to my hope.


A hope that I steal
from the gold that simmers
in dawns and dusks, on seas
into which the sun rises and sinks
like the ebb and flow of my hope. . .

A hope that flows through filaments
of old light-bulbs, which taught homes
shadows of books and toys
in nurseries; its energy
teaching strength to my hope.

A hope which slows the motion
of a note of music, in a song
favoured by my heart as music,
which plays to my dreams and
my hope is but a reality, existing
in a furnace, fueled by my shades
as I colour fire and cackling flames;
the warmth given to my Hope
as it melts away all the ice
that had once benumbed my heart.

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