A poem on hope.
Hope is a good thing—
said an absconder.
Maybe the best of things.
It lingers in the dark,
hope and the absconder, both.
A predicant preaches—
Hope in God is a good thing,
maybe the best of divine things.
None lingers—
neither the predicant,
nor God.
What made you pair the absconder with hope instead of despair? That choice feels so central to how the whole thing lands.
I love the twist at the end. The preacher's hope evaporates but the absconder's persists in the dark. That's the whole poem right there.
Honestly the contrast hits different. One person abandons everything but finds hope somehow. The other person preaches hope but abandons, or gets abandoned. Not sure which. Either way it feels inverted.
An indepth emotional reflection
The world awakens to a football flame, A summer of glory, a season of fame. From city to city, the passion will rise, As dreams take flight beneath endless skies.
The Morning Train
It’s a poem
This world is like a giant puzzle, and each of us is a unique piece of it. No piece is greater or lesser than another. Without you, the puzzle is incomplete. Without me, it is incomplete too. Our worth does not come from another person's validation. Our completeness does not depend on another person's presence. Love begins when we recognize our own value and embrace ourselves fully.
Leo was seven years old, and his hands were never still. If he wasn’t stacking wooden blocks into shaky towers, he was lining up couch cush
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