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.
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Jordyn Saelor 