Hope

Hope

Closed in, dark and pressing,
I’m searching for the light
My lungs are full and burning,
Cold fingers clutch me tight,
I’m losing hold of reason,
All that is left is fight.
And one small scrap of, “maybe …”

The only sound is crashing
Thunder in my ears,
The only thought is, “final,”
Torn from my darkest fears,
The aching overwhelms me,
And stabs and cramps and sears.
But one small scrap of, “maybe …”

Calm is spreading outwards,
From that one small scrap inside,
Catch hold once more of reason,
My mind is open wide,
Reach out, take hold, control it,
Now purpose is my guide.
But …
August 2007