There is still part of my heart that hopes
Let it hope, I think, sitting between cynicism and pragmatism.
We all need hope to get us through;
And maybe this hope
Is not unwarranted
Is not hopeless
Is not destined to fail.
Unencumbered by hope, I could be free and light
To rise and fly
Like a bird
Like a leaf
Like a cloud
But equally, I might also sink
Entombed in ice like dirty water
Death within death.
So let it shelter, somewhere between my breastbone and my shoulder blade
In the small house where the future lives
Only time will tell
If that doorway remains empty, more a promise
Than a portal.
However, even if no-one comes through it but my courage
My indomitable will
My recklessly beating heart
Not twinned but lone
That is enough.
It will have to be
Copyright ©2016 Christine Mitchell