An ounce of hope upon which to transfix.
Searching for the hope to hold onto
that a faceless someone will set in your hands.
Mornings become night.
In meditation a revelation…
Hope clutched is fleeting,
for it’s never in our hands.
Searching with eyes for a hope that won’t die,
simply means we don’t understand.
To see hope—
close your eyes.
In the heart is where hope lies.
©July 2017, Christina Anne Hawthorne