hope is a thing that thaws in spring
flows down a mountainside into a cascade
white cloud billow from the rush to be
gathered in a river flow to the sea.
It is light of a candle in a dark distance
that measures the way home, a fire
in the heart that carries us past weariness
a faith in black sky hours, before burn of dawn
consumes shadows and shimmers of night;
it is the faintest reckoning of love
even unto a distant heart gone cold, yet we know
the unwinding coil of time is proof:
life bears us like a rolling tide,
taking some into depths
bringing others into light.
The rhythm-less roll of age
reverberates to our cores, and we also know
it is the enduring hunger... that feeds the soul.
2 comments:
Wow, how beautifully you describe hope - the imagery gave me immense pleasure and the thoughts behind it, comfort. The final line is superb - 'it is the enduring hunger that feeds the soul'.
Daya-
so nice to see you here, I am Like Tagore, I prefer a life with challenge, there is joy in the uphill climb and we meet our inner fire...Thank you!
HDM
Post a Comment