Hope is a point of light
That beacons high above
The darkness of a stormy night
With glimmers of her love
And brightest in the fog surround
Her presence but a flash
A pulse of life yet to come ‘round
Sweet salve to fill the gash.
I’ve seen her in the gravest trench
When all without befell
Tormented soul in shadows blench
A spark within, the lurid quell.
A glint of warmth, a faith untold
She rides the dawn of day
Her sight ablates the icy folds
Hope is the mortal fray.
© Deborah Garcia 2015