The Anatomy of Hope

The summer mist drifts over my life,
I helplessly look back at happier times.
The whining echoes in an endless loop—
Where is my refuge, where is my hope?

The muttering valley mourns with me,
Still I ask, where is my hope?
Wheezing rails collapse beneath memory,
Ploughing through the damp morning slope.

Disembodied eyes stare into the eternal,
And still I wonder, where is my hope?
For conquered minds cannot live without rest—
And even sleep whispers the answer to hope.

Night cups my breath in trembling hands,

Silence sews wounds I never name.

Beneath closed eyes, faint embers stir—

learns to breathe where light cannot, Hope.