The Texture of Hope – Poem

It feels like…that feeling you get when you’re waiting for the bus and you remember that it came yesterday.
It feels like the warmth of the seat and the touch of the heating on your ankles.

It feels like…that feeling you get when you look at the clock in school and it’s five minutes to home time!
All your fatigue evaporates and the air becomes pregnant with potential.

It looks like…that look you have when you’re caught in an awkward conversation with an older relative and your favourite cousin walks through the door!
It looks like wide eyes, knowing smiles with sighs of relief.

It looks like…the crowd of fans standing to their feet as you make the final shot, or kick, or breakaway of the game.
It looks like lungs full of air and hands holding hair and mouths open wide.
It sounds like…silence. Like bated breath. A joy-filled mass of nothing ready to make a big bang and burst into a universe of gladness and expectation.

It sounds like…teeth. Grinding together to dull the noise of adversity in the night, believing in the dawn and pushing through for a better tomorrow.


Really it’s intangible and invisible.
Like a secret assassin it sneaks in and slits the throats of despair and despondency
Burying them in a tomb of peace with a gravestone of gladness.
Hope takes no prisoners but takes every thought captive and brings it into submission to its Master and Author.
Hope is trembling in the boat and seeing Him walking on the waves.
Hope is waking bound in the darkness hearing Him calling your name.
Hope is a blind man’s cloak falling for the last time.
Hope is digging a hole in the ceiling for a friend.
Hope is a complex recipe whose texture is changed by a sprinkle of faith that is stirred into trouble
But hot or cold, it’s a dish best


April 16th 2017


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