Hope

in the human breast,

if it didn't, we wouldn't be

like all the rest

who have gone before.

Hope is like a tiny seed,

that has been carefully stored,

then planted in the

fertile soil of faith,

to await the springtime of life.

Forever and eternally,

hope keeps springing up,

something we may not

know or understand,

continually, ever new.

A man may know he is

going to die sometime,

yet, way ahead he

sees a ray of hope.

He still clings to

that last straw,

even gropes through

darkness if he has to,

until it dims his thoughts

and fills him with fright,

he still dreams that the

light of hope will fill the night.

My Blog~Mystical Poetry, Prose, and Political Viewpoints