The dam of my mind has bottled up my tears. Hold for the implosion. Hope is the anchor holding this boat in the storm-- tossed by waves, unmoved. Thread through thick soil, roots. Water awaits. Go drink it. Raindrops in deserts. A wandering light, fluttering, frail; in deepness of creeping midnights. Each howling of wind each mountain wave crashing down upon my hope boat. An old, aching tree about to tumble, roots weak. Enduring hope hurts. At night, cacti bloom pink to oppressive shadow. Color to the black.
Jordyn Saelor 