There is this hope

that somehow through the decline

of strength and circle,

beyond the shrinking noose

that ends in the inevitable

there is a wide and free land

where those who lose and lost

will stand and see

the Everlasting come

to make everything new.


There is this hope

that the shattered and sick

and those roped in dark dumps

nailed into the smallest corners

wishing for the final flick of a knife

will somehow be saved

on the last day, that life

will flow free like the blood

from that Cross-carrying Innocent

that makes everything new.


There is this hope

that tomorrow will be

not just another dreary day

where stale hours clump

and sprout numbing nothingness

but green leaves will

form from the stump

of the fallen

in the shape of the One

that makes even me new