In the bleak spaces there is sometimes a light,
some spark that the darkness has not snuffed,
waning and waxing like a candle light. This
is the voice of hope, when all other voices
have silenced, the voice of dawn before dawn
has risen from the horizon, the voice of all
who have never let night be the final say.
Oblivion will not win, I have decided — I know
not when I did — but this heart will not be
driven from its onward go, this spirit will not
be quieted from its song. The light, though
small and fragile in its glow, I will keep, like
the fingerprint of a guardian angel upon my
desire, like the aroma of a rose long after the
rose has withered, like the tune of a forgotten
hymn: I cannot stop, I think, though I may
falter along my way: I must this need to travel
through courses meant for me to go. I am a
dreamer and always have been, and there is
nothing more for me but to see that light when
it is most distant and faded. This is hope,
that I will unearth my inspiration when the
world and time have buried it in the numb of
everyday drivel, and I think I must stake my
flag upon tomorrow — it is mine if I choose,
it is mine because that is where the light shines.
anon.x
11:27am tuesday, 22nd july
optimistic,great. hope, the last cluthch for all dreamers, like myself. without it, there is nothing! glad u still have it
anon.x