Poem: Living on Hope

I dwell in the hush between heartbreak and dawn,
Where silence is brittle, yet carries me on.
The night may grow heavy, the road may seem steep,
But hope is the flame I cradle in sleep.

It flickers in corners the dark tries to claim,
A whisper that softens the echo of shame.
Though walls may close in and dreams lose their shape,
Hope wears no chains—it always escapes.

It hums in the cracks of a soul that’s been torn,
Like flowers that rise through concrete, reborn.
It speaks in the language wearier still know:
“Tomorrow is more than the sorrow you show.”

I feed it with silence, with breath and with tears,
It grows through my doubts, it ages with years.
Not blind to the weight of what might go wrong,
But stubborn and brave, it still sings its song.

So I walk through the world, though it bends and it breaks,
With hope in my pocket and all that it takes.
For living on hope is not wishing or prayer—
It’s daring to stand when there’s nothing but air.