i
I was lost for a moment
Standing by the waiting waters,
Gazing to the distant horizon.
Was what I saw real?
Or a trick of the mind.
A hallucination.
The setting sun
Cast a crimson road
On the surface
Of the gently rolling waves.
A reflection red as blood.
An indication of a way.
It beckoned me.
ii
"No point in trying."
said Cynicism loudly.
He stood on my right
Which he always thought he was.
"There's a way to know,"
said Hope quietly.
He stood to my left
To remind me he was
Close to my heart
And the stronger of the two.
"How long will it take?"
I asked.
"Too long,"
said Cynicism.
"I don't know."
said Hope.
"How do I get across?"
I asked.
"You can't swim. You'll drown."
said Cynicism.
"We'll build a raft."
said Hope.
"Out of what?"
mocked Cynicism.
"You don't have the materials."
"A Gardener planted seeds,"
said Hope.
“They are your passions and dreams.
Tended patiently,
They've flourished into trees.
The same Gardener
Has been growing fruit.
One of the vines,
Trust, will tie the branches
Together and you
Will have your raft."
"Trust can break.
Your dreams will drift away,"
demanded Cynicism.
"The One who planted the fruit
Knew what He was doing,"
said Hope.
"The vines will hold
The raft together."
"I'm afraid to try,"
I said.
"I don't know if I'll get there."
"You may end up somewhere
Different than expected.
But you will get there
Should you cross
The waiting waters,"
said Hope.
"Or you'll sink along the way,"
suggested Cynicism.
"Only if the vines are cut,"
said Hope.
iii
Cynicism waited nearby
As Hope and I
Built my raft of dreams.
Trust held each dream fast.
iv
"It's time to get to
Where you're going,"
said Hope.
"Or likely drown
along the way,"
replied Cynicism.
"It's not too late.
Walk away from the raft.
Keep your feet on dry land.
Stay where you've always been.
Be here.
Be safe."
"I'm afraid.
I said.
"But I must go.
You are not coming
With me this time,
Cynicism."
He backed away, glaring.
v
I boarded my raft of dreams.
Hope pushed me out
Onto the waiting waters,
And leapt up beside me.
He took my hand.
"You'll get where you're going."
vi
Descending into the dark,
The sun's bloody red trail was
Replaced by a pure, white path.
The full moon
Cast a bright road
On the gently rolling waves.
The golden sun
Sacrificed itself
For the moon
To reflect its light.
"The stars are fickle and distant,
Too far to be grasped.
Follow the light of the moon
When the sun cannot be seen,"
said Hope.
The night sky
Was alive with wonder and light
That my eyes swallowed,
And my soul was fed.
vii
Not every night
Was as beautiful.
Nor the path
As obvious and apparent.
The moon was on a cycle
And not always bright and full.
Often clouds shrouded
The lights of the sky.
Sometimes I couldn't see.
But I could feel
Hope always to my left.
The waiting waters
Continued to carry me.
viii
Hope, my true companion,
Was ever present.
But I found myself
Thinking of the friend
I left behind,
Cynicism.
I even missed him
And wondered
Whether he was right.
Would my raft come apart?
Would I drown
In the waiting waters?
ix
The nights were darker
More often than not.
And the clouds
Carried over into day.
With the lacking sun,
I felt more distant
From my companion, Hope.
I felt as if...
I was losing him.
I began to complain.
"How great is the distance
I must travel across
These cursed waters?
How much longer
Must I ride this raft
With no end in sight?"
"I don't know,"
said Hope.
"But stay on the raft.
The vines will hold fast.
You'll get where you're going
On the waiting waters."
Hope always said the same.
He was aggravating
And impossible to argue with.
No amount of logic
Could dissuade
His steadfast countenance.
He was constant
As the current below us,
Carrying me just as much
As the waiting waters.
But I couldn't see
What Hope could.
And I didn't believe
The raft was able;
No branches strong enough
Nor the vines worthy.
I thought of Cynicism often
And deemed his cowardice
To be wisdom.
x
My mind drifted
As my raft of dreams did
On the waiting waters.
My words shifted
To sound more and more
Like my old friend,
Cynicism.
His echoes stretched
Across the distance.
They only grew louder
Instead of fading away.
Hope never raised his voice
Or changed his words.
xi
Then came the storm.
My stomach
Rose and fell
With the waves
Of the waiting waters.
The wind threatened
To pull me from my raft
But Hope held me steady
With his strong hand.
The rain whipped
Into my face
And blinded my eyes.
"We're not going to make it!"
I cried out in fear.
"Stay on the raft.
The vines will hold fast.
You'll get where you're going
On the waiting waters."
Even with the noise
Of the raging storm
And thrashing waves
I could still hear Hope
Though he did not
Raise his voice.
But rather than
Bringing comfort
His words repeated,
Cycling in my head,
Swirling like the water.
And when I swallowed them
They tasted bitter.
Though it was his hand
Keeping me from
Slipping off the raft,
His strength keeping me
From being dragged under,
The desire to shrug
His grip on my shoulder
Grew and grew and grew
To match the ferocity
Of the storm around me.
xii
We crested the top of
The biggest wave yet.
For a moment
The world slowed
And it felt as if we were
Perched on the edge
Of a precipice.
"Look,"
said Hope.
I tried to open my eyes.
But the wind and rain
Still stung
And I squeezed them shut.
"Look,"
said Hope again.
"The sun."
For a moment
I felt the warmth.
And then
The wave collapsed
And we were
Back in the throws
Of the storm,
At the mercy
Of the waiting waters.
xiii
The echoes of
Cynicism's voice
And cautious words
Seemed less distant.
A familiar presence
Crept up beside me.
And this time,
Despite the stinging,
I forced my eyes open.
I saw a vessel
Towering over us.
It breached the waves
With apparent ease.
"I've come to rescue
You, my friend."
I saw Cynicism
Standing at the helm.
"Abandon Hope
As you abandoned me!
Cut the vines
And you will be free!"
He yelled above the storm.
I saw him draw a blade
From his side
And with a powerful arm
He threw it
Across the distance
Between us.
On instinct
My hand rose
And I felt it
Close around the hilt.
It was a familiar blade.
It was called
disappointment.
xiv
With no
Further instruction
I knew
What I must do.
I slid the blade
Between the vines
And the raft.
But Hope's touch
Gave me pause.
In that moment
I had a choice.
xv
The wind howled.
The rain pelted.
The waves battered.
The storm would not ease.
"Just wait,"
Hope said.
I loosened my grip
On disappointment.
I pondered passing
The blade to Hope.
"You are not safe!"
Yelled Cynicism.
"Climb into my ship.
It's a haven from pain.
Cut the vines!
Kill Hope!
Then drop the sword
Into the waiting waters.
You won't need it
After it's done this work."
"Just wait,"
said Hope.
I gave up on Hope.
xvi
Indifference
Took over
And I shrugged
Hope's hand
From my shoulder.
I cut the vines of trust
With the blade
Of disappointment
And I plunged it
Into Hope's chest.
I felt satisfaction
That I could
Escape the waiting waters.
That I could
Live without disappointment.
That I could
Be free from Hope's cruel words.
My raft of dreams
Began to separate.
I felt a hand grip
My collar
And snatch me
Up and away from
The waiting waters.
xvii
Cynicism turned
The ship around.
As Hope
And my raft of dreams
Slipped from view,
They slipped
From my mind.
"Let's go back
To where you were,"
Said Cynicism.
xviii
It took little time
To get back to
Where I was.
Much less than
I had spent
On the waiting waters.
Cynicism drove
The ship ashore.
He wasted no time
In disembarking.
My feet found
The sandy coastline
And I spotted Cynicism
Carrying a torch
And an armful
Of large branches.
He climbed back
Into the ship.
I saw smoke
Drifting into the sky.
Cynicism
Stood beside me.
We watched
The vessel burn
To the ground.
“You won’t be
Needing it,”
Smiled Cynicism.
“You’re where
You’ve always been.
You’re where you’re
Meant to be
With no Hope.
And no disappointment.”
xix
I stood on the shoreline
Gazing out across
The waiting waters
Unfeeling to their beckoning.
A glint in the sand
Caught my attention.
I stooped and dusted
The sand aside.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
It was disappointment.
Cynicism had lied.
I thought the blade
Would be gone forever
When Hope had died.
But now I saw it
Sharp as ever.
Washed ashore
To the place I was before.
And I felt it’s cold steel
In my hand.
With shame and sorrow
I finally realized
The atrocity I had committed.
I had betrayed Hope.
I called my friend, enemy
And my enemy, friend.
I thought I had
Grasped the handle
As I picked up the sword
But it was the blade.
Disappointment cut deep.
And I bled.
Cynicism ignored
The gash on my hand.
I missed Hope.
But I had killed him.
xx
Disappointment
Was an ever-present weight.
It was attached
To my belt
Tucked into a sheath
So I could pretend
It wasn’t sharp.
“This is where
You were before.
This is where
You’ll always be.
This is where
You’re meant to be.”
Cynicism told me often.
I would return
To the shore
Only to remember
How I’d failed before
Trying to cross
The waiting waters.
And this time
There was no Hope
To help me.
This was where
I’d always be.
xxi
Something felt different
That moonlit night.
Silver beams
Glanced and danced
On the surface
Of the waiting waters.
My hand firmly gripped
The handle
Of disappointment.
I longed
To be out on the waves
Of the waiting waters.
Their uncertain tide
Was a welcome beckoning.
I knew them to be better than
Where I was,
Where I would always be.
But I knew I would sink
With no true friend
And no steady raft.
xxii
I was lost for a moment
Standing by the waiting waters,
Gazing to the distant horizon.
Was what I saw real?
Or a trick of the mind.
A hallucination.
Rising from the water
Was a familiar figure
Vines were wrapped around
His arms and waist,
Tied to a mass
Of floating branches.
Hope had returned.
And with him he brought
My raft of shattered dreams.
He dragged it ashore
With the vines of trust I had cut.
Hope dropped them at my feet.
I couldn’t meet his gaze
But scanned his chest
For evidence of my
Awful handiwork.
To see the scars
Of disappointment
I had tried to kill him with.
As I studied his wounds,
Hope reached out his hand
And touched my chest.
I watched in horror
As the scars marring his skin
Faded and a pain
Grew within my heart.
Hope’s scars
Disappeared entirely
And he pulled back his hand.
Mine replaced his
As I grasped
At the pain.
I felt the wet of blood
And a maze of wounds.
Hope stooped and picked up
The vines of trust.
He held them out to me,
And waited patiently.
I hesitated…
But without really knowing why,
I let go of my chest
And grasped the vines.
The pain subsided.
I breathed in deeply.
“How long will it take?”
I asked.
“I don’t know,”
Hope said.
“But you’ll get where you’re going
Should you cross the waiting waters.”
Comentários