Hope
Something is dying,
Quivering on the edge
Of my soul.
It is shaking
Swaying in the lightest breeze
As it clings to all it has left.
It has no energy
To cry
And it huddles
Quiet
Pressed against the very edge
Praying
That no wind will come
To knock it over.
It is frail
And its voice has long since died.
It is silent now,
Defeated.
Waiting.
