SOUND OF HOPE 
Burnt out mailbox at the corner,
reminder of our feeble words.
Crushed diaries litter sidewalks,
manna for dark and hungry birds.
Scraps of beauty die a thousand deaths
while ugliness rides in herds.
Darkness creeps, fitful tossing,
dreadful dreams, nascent hopes absurd.
When carried brightly on gentle breezes,
whispers of hope played by fingers curved.
There will be music despite everything.
Burnt out mailbox at the corner,
reminder of our feeble words.
Crushed diaries litter sidewalks,
manna for dark and hungry birds.
Scraps of beauty die a thousand deaths
while ugliness rides in herds.
Darkness creeps, fitful tossing,
dreadful dreams, nascent hopes absurd.
When carried brightly on gentle breezes,
whispers of hope played by fingers curved.
There will be music despite everything.
(photos taken by and used with permission of
Christine Valters Paintner from www.abbeyofthearts.com )
posted by Pilgrim Path | 10:08 PM
2 Comments:
Rich, what a marvelous poem! Very dense and packed with wonderful images, the rhyming scheme works beautifully too. I especially love "whispers of hope played by fingers curved" -- thanks so much for your contribution!
That's the line that struck me too Rich. I found this poem very moving. Thanks.
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