Hope is a silent prayer, the notes of which are born in the breath and die at the lips.
Hope is the silence between two beeps of a heartbeat monitor, and the patient wait for the next.
Hope is the cold floor when you pull yourself out of bed and wipe away the dried up tears and snot off your face, and get going, day after day after day.
Hope is the pink dawn and the cool morning breeze, the soft promise of a new beginning.
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Silhouette of the Soul
Poetry"Closed in a room, my imagination becomes the universe, and the rest of the world is missing out." Here's a collection of my mindless meanderings, midnight musings, poems, rants and random thoughts. This is all the stuff I think of while sitting i...
