Where did my hope go?
When did it leave my side?
Or is it still there?
Just silent in my brain.
Pills. Therapy. Write.
This is how I search for it.
Without it, I am lost.
In a dark forest with no light.
Breadcrumbs appear.
Writing is one.
So I follow the crumbs,
and see where they lead.
For now,
that means poetry.
I hesitate to say,
but I think it gives me hope.
So perhaps it is here,
quieted by my mind,
and I can find a way to make it louder.
Perhaps.
So I will continue to write.
As I hope for my hope,
to raise it’s voice clear,
and bellow in my ear.
Poetry
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