Hope's Pradox

Neither comes with a trumpet

Nor a promise carved in stone

Just a whisper,

Threadbare and trembling,

That says;

Try again

Yet it breaks easily

Like a frost on a morning leaf

But somehow,

It mends itself 

Before the sun has set

It lives where reasons won’t

Feeds on doubt,

Sleeps beside despair

And still,

It sings

Because somehow 

In the echoes

Of all I’ve lost,

It hums a song

I almost believe.