Fountain Poem by Raymond Magabe

like trees in the springtime seemingly doubtful about blossoming,
I hope for the sunlight on my toes with the eagerness
of a child when unwrapping a Christmas gift.
the fountain of my soul sprouts out my fire
and set ablaze the last drying leaf of hope.
I am alive, I believe I am.
this reality has its fangs buried deep into my ribs,
clinching tighter with every breath I take.
the fountain of my soul reaches for the sky
with a fire to melt-to-rain the dark clouds
that hover patiently over me.
my soul is mine to keep,
I am not dying yet.
no, I am not.