Whence does my hope come?
Why does faith in renewal
remain undaunted?
A broken vessel
containing my life stories
lies shattered and strewn.
New life may emerge
from the shards of brokenness.
Will I be patient?
Why does faith in renewal
remain undaunted?
A broken vessel
containing my life stories
lies shattered and strewn.
New life may emerge
from the shards of brokenness.
Will I be patient?
7 comments:
As I told Nicole of My New Normals (link below), this poem essentially asks, from whence does hope come when one is lying amid the shards of the broken vessel our life has become. I suppose it comes from different places, depending on the individual, the time, and circumstance. And, yet, hope remains. For what, I cannot say with certainty. Is it hope for a cure? Not predominantly. Perhaps, it is simply hope for forbearance in the midst of hardship. Perhaps, it’s hope for having a good support network which will mitigate depression. Perhaps, in the end, it is spiritual faith. Is that what gets me through? I don’t know. I just know that, though tempted, somehow I don’t descend endlessly into deep despair. Hope, whatever its source, somehow carries me through.
http://www.mynewnormals.com/when-my-will-is-weak/
Beautiful poem! I loved it!
Judy - amazing poem. And yes, keep hope alive
love gail
peace.....
I've often noted that I seem to be the antithesis of your hopeful spirit. I have faith, spiritual and otherwise, but hope eludes me. I can't muster the energy to long for the renewal of which you speak. My own earthen vessel has too many broken parts to ever be whole again.
I believe hope comes from the soul. Although my body may be broken, my soul remains intact, and therefore, so does hope.
I find it surprising, indeed, that I can still harbor hope, despite overwhelming reasons for despair. Perhaps, it’s simply a personality trait to doggedly search for ways out of adversity. In other words, it’s reflexive. Perhaps, though, it’s the awareness that if I don’t keep searching for solutions, I might as well turn out the lights. As I am not ready to turn out the lights, I keep seeking for solutions that may improve my life. That suggests that, implicitly, I must believe answers exist, that renewal is possible.
Is that a definition of hope? Research shows that, “in all cultures, the conviction that one’s predicament is hopeless may cause or hasten disintegration and death.” [Jerome and Julia Frank, Persuasion and Healing] The tools available to me to fight this disease are limited. Could it be that keeping hope alive is the strongest weapon in my arsenal?
Line, I’m glad the poem pleased you.
Gail, hope, yes, for the reasons stated above.
Muff, I simply cannot give up on hope.
Karen, if that is so, I am glad my soul gave me the gift of hope.
You manage to say so much in these few words. Beautiful!
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