The Death Of Hope

Sad to think about no hope.
But, sometimes it dies for all of us

Sometimes there is a cremation,
and the ashes of hope
are scattered across a sad past

Yes. Sometimes.
But, even with those ashes…
Those ashes can create something
much bigger and better.

They can follow the winds,
blowing where they should have been all along.
They can fall on clean sheets of canvas,
painting pictures that should have been seen all along.

Yes, they leave marks, like us.
Never forgotten.

The embers burn indelibly into our skin.
The ashes cover our souls
in blankets of bittersweet memories.

Let it burn. Let it cover.
Let it blacken our fingertips
so that we are the ones leaving marks.

Let it become so much a part of us
that the story writes us, the painting draws us,
just as much as we create them.

 

Written in comments with The Laundry Maid

 

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