Thursday, 17 December 2009


What is hope but the beauty of the impossible.
Fading whispers of the dream that could never be
And yet is more beautiful in its impossibility

For where the ocean roars and horrid beasts of our nightmares roam
The cracks and creavases of our whole being resound in a constant and impossible reality

We dare not whisper it,
It is too beautiful to hope and fail
Too much to long for upon the empty contours of our world

And yet it shows itself
Breaking in, flaming and true and whole
Announcing itself as more than our dreams could ever belay

Here the despair is all too near
Carrying with it the radical potency of what we deem indubitable

What is hope but the fantasy, that which we can never truly expect
It is too beautiful to speak
Too beautiful for our eyes to take hold of

Yet it takes hold of us
Making itself known as the good beyond our fears and plots and expectations.

Hope that conquers the trouble of our soul
It sits and breaths into us anew- light and love
Not in those places we expect the most,
But in those places we despair the most

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Dear Author !
In it something is. I thank for the information. I did not know it.