Hope

Sometimes I find hope
out in the open field,
on worn shelves
in bookshops, between
dog-eared pages and
underlined phrases of poetry

In the nests of wild blackbirds,
or half buried beneath
the speckled sand, gleaming
in the sun like a sea-glass,
rendered smoother by
rough waves

And sometimes I find it
curled up, shivering
dripping rain all
over the doormat,
In the pale hours of morning
gazing down with
those unguarded eyes
shining a light, a sense of belief

But it can be found within

lying dormant, untill 
we awaken,
it's desires, it's ambition
It's strengths, 
and it's promise, 
to keep us going till the end

Hope makes things possible
 
not easy...