Hope

Some say hope is for the fainthearted 

a four letter word with little bone to its back

not a ladder you climb as though you could aspire

to climb into heaven on its rungs…

only to have the winds rattle your nerve

and you slip and fall

deep down into the abyss 

like an angel without wings,

with only a heart that beats 

and skin that tears

and eyes that can see

the wastelands 

and all the harbingers of death,

and yet hope was never a thing

but the light of your presence

and everything you are

rippling through this world

like gossamer silk,

duality is the world 

painted in colour 

and you a character

in this rich tapestry,

toying with the notions,

half truths and desperate lies

between the sands and the sea

the mountains and the valleys

deep with thirst

and pulsing with love,

life and destruction.

Sand

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