Hope is a Flame

Hope is a flame that flickers, not fades,
A whisper of light when the daylight decays.
It hides in the hush of a wind-battered tree,
Yet dares to believe in what could come to be.

It lives in the breath of the silence we keep,
It visits our dreams in the depths of our sleep.
It hums in the hush between thunder and rain,
A pulse in the quiet that follows our pain.

Hope is the voice that speaks through the storm,
The thread that remains when the fabric is torn.
It bends with the weight of the sorrow we bear,
Yet never breaks down, for it’s always somewhere.

In shadows it dances, in darkness it shines,
It grows in the cracks of forgotten confines.
A lantern we carry, though battered and small,
That glows all the brighter when night tries to fall.

It waits by the door when we’re too weak to rise,
It shines in the tears that well in our eyes.
It does not demand, it never complains,
It’s soft, but it stays when nothing remains.

Hope is the bird with invisible wings,
That lifts up our soul when no one else sings.
It’s the first green shoot from a scorched piece of land,
The strength to hold on when we don’t understand.

It’s woven in stories we tell to the stars,
Carved in the wood of our emotional scars.
It’s stitched into lullabies sung through the years,
A rhythm that echoes beyond all our fears.

Hope is not loud, but it's endlessly deep—
A vow that the lost will awaken from sleep.
So cradle it close, and guard it with care,
For hope is the light that is always still there.