This Hope

My tears fell so loud and hard

and I fell to the ground. Because,

because I could not write.

When my words disappear,

so does my hope.

Today I felt I could write,

and so,

my hope slowly renewed.

Underneath the summer rain.

Strands of freshly-washed hair

dripping onto my shoulders.

Bare chest soaked and shining.

I could listen to music again.

Up lifted the greyscale hue that

my despair had casted over my view.

The green of the trees were muted. But,

but they were green.

This hope will not last too long,

of this I am sure. But,

this hope will return to me

holding an unfamiliar form.

Late June

or early snow.

My hope will come

as it will go.

This I have learnt.

This I have lived. Oh,

oh this I know.