Hope

Among the palm fronds and the trees

The sand wet with the salt water, both that lapping at the island

And that streaming from my eyes

Muscles, weak with exhaustion, falter

When I cannot muster even the weakest of efforts,

She holds out her hand for me to grab onto.

Our plots and schemes of escape litter the island,

Our ideas sketched out onto the sand

In the beam of the sun upon us,

only one shadow imbeds in the land

The other shadow falls across the corners of my mind

For she is only an idea, a thought, a motivator in time of need

—her name is Hope