HOPE
Hope is like a flower,
Beautiful, but fragile.
One moment it’s there, flowing in the wind,
The next it’s crumbled,
Resting on the ground.
Cracked, and blackened,
Dying and fading.
It needs help to stay alive.
It needs to be fed,
Cared for,
And constantly watched.
Because one day it could be there,
And the next, gone.
Without hope, there’s nothing left.
Hope is what we live on,
And hope is what we trust in.
We trust it to keep feelings up,
And to keep ourselves going.
Hope is like a flower,
Strong and powerful.
But it doesn’t die with the changing seasons,
But stays, if it’s cared for properly.
THE PAINTING
The weather grows colder,
The colours melt away.
Littering the ground as a poorly painted canvas
Growing more beautiful every day.
They grow darker and darker until one day gone black
And covered by a splash of white so tightly packed.
The white fades and turns green
And the weather grows warmer.
Beautiful buds of pink wave
Like a flag in the wind.
Pink opens into other colours,
Then falls away,
Floating through the air on a faint glass wing.
The painting turns so green,
No other colour in sight,
Until one day,
When the colours melt away,
And begin the painting all over again.
