Arms Of Hope Poem by David Harris

Willowed, lost and lonely
grasping for fragments
of childhood within my despair.
A chill of cold and damp,
winters lasting legacy
covers the body in the mornings
with a long uncertainty.
Where are the arms of hope?

No ink in which to dip my pen
to scratch out lines on a blank page.
Charity visits too often
now I have nothing to give
only the diversities of nature,
the smattering of dying leaves
that touch the ground in fall.
Where are the arms of hope?

Lying in bed I am molested
by nightmares of the dark
where no quintessential light
burns to guide hope.
I lay with tormented eyes
wide open to the shuddered night.
Where is the salvation
found within the arms of hope?


28 August 2010