The Spirit Of Hope

A mountain white with snow, glowing in the silver light of a full moon, a night etched in the quicksilver tears of forgotten Gods.

Quietly, from an unobtrusive corner in an a mossy back yard, emerging into this gloaming a feeble hope. Glistening beneath the lunar gaze, still slick with the waters of the womb, wobbling with the struggles of gravity…

There I sat, on a cold winter stone, gazing at a view and lost in contemplation. There, this new born entity finds it’s way to my arms… Crawling across the grass wet with dew, hidden by the shadows of the night, seeking reassurance and protection from the cold…

Tucking it into a warm empty space in my heart, I give a home to this orphan spirit…

How strange now that my heart beats to a new rhythm, that hope lives within me and flows in my blood…

Sitting in my solitude, I am no longer alone.

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