hope comes drifting by
in the breeze that gently rustles a sulky summer
in the fragrance of the first flower
in the buzz of the first bee
hope comes sneaking
into the darkness of a dream
into the stillness of a fossilized life
into the womb of dead silence
at the sight of the first gold
that threads an earthly dawn
the singer winds taut the strings on his lute
to string the invisible beads of dreams and
despair again
in a strain of infinite beauty, and sadness…
life, is this toss…
between hope
and despair. between day and night. between death and deathlessness…
***
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