Hope Lives Here.

Photo by Crid

Some growth we barely see
But they be.
Roots carving through rocks
Born from liquid strength,
An eruption to an end
But what end?
An end is a start if I’m asked.
Does Earth leave void?
A finish without a beginning?
Or a beginning without a finish with a new beginning?

Tell me!

This hope we speak of,
Aren’t they ashes from lava that the mighty oak springs?
Aren’t they withered leaves from whose veins the palm tree raises its head?

You see this hope,
This hope lives here
We touch it from within us,
And as seasons change,
Even the withered breathe the breath of life.

The Earth turns,
It turns nevertheless.
As you wait the turn, put your back to it,
Till and prune,
To understand the times is key.
A wise man once asked,
Can dry bones live to become and be?
To a yes! they can be.
Let doubt flee,
It is love that captures
And makes us free.

So breathe!

Even the withered breathe as seasons change.


25 thoughts on “Hope Lives Here.

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