Take your pen,
light it like a cigarette,
brace it between your fingertips
say: Writing is proof
I am not alone, proof
I am not standing outside so many closed doors
for nothing
proof even my voice is a torch
sometimes, hope chimes on the porch
sometimes, even wind smells like home.
Sometimes hope DOES chime on the porch. I swear it does.
I knew I wasn’t the only one who has heard it! =)
xo