I always pictured Hope as a bird
a small, white dove
flying among the clouds
or maybe a cheerful canary
singing to the dawn each morning
Sometimes Hope would come to me and perch
just outside the window of my heart
radiant, beautiful
filling me with it's joyful song
Sometimes, when the winds were
strong and blowing against me
Hope would catch the swell
and soar high like an eagle, wings spread wide
it's cry jubilant and free
Other times hope would come
down from Heaven
hearing my cries it would
come and quietly nestle beside me
and envelope me in it's wings
This time is different
This time I listened as Hope
tried to sing, but had no voice
This time Hope tried to rise up with
the winds, struggling, but unable to soar
Painfully, sadly I watched as Hope was
attacked by the black ones
pecking and plucking at it's feathers
I watched as Hope plummeted
down to the depths of my soul,
spread out it's wings
- and died.