mark + ange guinn

Hope is like
a toddler in the surf,
a candle in the draft,
a frail child at recess.

Hope is held up on the thinnest string:
So easily he falls prey to the waves, the wind, the bully’s words.

We must guard him, this tender egg.
If he hatches he brings a new world,
If he cracks then many things are lost.
We will buck against the cost;
We will blame the wind and waves but

It won’t be their fault.