Monday, April 2, 2012

The Toil of Hope

4) Lying, overcome with the weight of pain,
Trying to sum up the courage to call
Upon the one who makes all well; but sane
Words that filter through my mind, as water
Through a sieve, do now try to find some more
Suitable route, dub me a mere ruptured
Suit, unfit for lodging. As Tupperware
Unsealed, when air dodges through thin cracks.
I real, my hands begin to fall slack;
As though bands did rim themselves round them inch
By inch along the way, cutting off the life
Within! Thus I begin to fade from strife,
The turmoil of hope that kept me alive
Turns to toil; through toil I will strive!

                                                            The Toil of Hope, (C) Luke Bennette, March 2012      

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