She holds hope in her hand –
feels the smooth, comforting weight of it.
She carries it with her wherever she goes.
It is a gift that was given to her
and it is her greatest treasure.
She does her best to guard it,
to protect it, and keep
doubt from tarnishing its glow.
Every now and then –
when circumstances make her
want to put down hope so
that she has both hands
free to fight –
she loses sight of it.
Distracted, she
lets go of hope and
moments, days, years later
realizes her hand
no longer clings to hope.
Where did hope go?
Her heart’s been on a journey
full of twisted, torturous turns
and she wonders
where hope went.
At the mere thought of hope
she looks to her hands
and understands she’s left
no room for hope.
Her hands hold
doubt, fear, blame, regret –
she’s at her maximum capacity.
Her passions, possibilities, and purpose
have no agency when her
hands are empty of hope –
for hope is what fuels them.
She shifts her heart’s posture,
because she longs for what
she is made for,
and so she chooses hope.
She empties her hands of her burdens
and finds hope was there all along –
it was just buried under all she held so tightly.
Hope had never left her,
she just couldn’t see it
because her heart
focused on other things.
And now she gazes at it.
Hope –
in her hand,
in her heart –
the smooth, comforting weight of it.
#PermissionGranted
Here’s another post I did on hope.
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