For The Sunday Muse prompt #121. After Emily Dickinson.

Hope is the thing
that shimmers
in the distance
the faint light
flickering in the
brooding stillness
of the afternoon heat,
the persistent promise
that this thirst, this
longing for restoring
will be sated by rain.
It is the pulse
quickening with the
lengthening shadows
of evening and the
return of familiar
sights to the eyes.
It is home
calling the lost son
to return to the
dangerous duty
of tending.

6 thoughts on “Hope

  1. Straight rows lead to hope for crops, right living leads to either persecution or betterment. Hope.
    Nice promises here give hope if we will take them to heart..


  2. I love every line in this amazing poem A.J.! It is a beautiful representation of the glory of hope. Like Sherry, I too especially love the idea of it calling the lost son to the duty of tending.


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