Hope

Sheol had cast its shadow
upon your beloved face.
You were sinking
and I sometimes forgot to breathe.
And love feels beside the point
when the hounds of hell
come to call.

When did the hoarse whisper
of despair become a roar
of no no no no?
When did you know
that you could make music again?


Comments

  1. we convince ourselves of many things.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Beautiful. Just beautiful. I can hear the music from here.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I'm glad to hear that music is back. Take care.

    ReplyDelete
  4. This is one of those instances where the poem can stand on its own without the image, but the combination of image and words is perfect. The poem's also a good reminder that even when love feels beside the point, it never is.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thanks for stopping by - I'd love to hear what you have to say!