Hope is the splint we use to bind and tie, all the things broken by the weight of a lie.
It is feeling of relief that kindness brings, when we realize the giant is here to help fix our tattered wing.
Hope is being cradled through worst moments of our lives, with the assurance that action and time will make it right.
It is acts of healing those you don’t know, not caring if we will reap the harvest we sow
Hope is a whisper almost lost in the pain, that assures us such horror can not possibly remain.
It is the medicine we find in our time of grief, a powerful, soft golden leaf
Hope lives in memories of the open sky and our refusal to let those fragile dreams die
It is believing in the dawn, through fevered nights that seem impossibly long.
Hope is a thing with broken wings, it is also the place from where all joy springs