HOPE

The sun—a ball of burning gas burning millions and millions of miles away.

One of God's greatest creations.

Though far, you still shine your light, and by reason of your heat, your warmth...life is created.

My weary eyes already dimmed with age gazes at the lone sycamore tree, spreading in all its glory its wide branches. It draws its strength from you.

I wish I could be like the sun, not needing to be near but still being able to effect a change, to spring forth life..like the rivers of living waters.

My soul aches for you. My flesh though weakened by age still needs your warmth.

I fear the night, because then your warmth would be gone.

And I'd feel so cold.

I'd clutch my blankets shutting my eyes tightly and pray for the day to come.
Because in the dark, lurk many demons, demons that threaten to swallow me whole.

At night I'm afraid, but in the morning, I have hope. I'm safe because I know the demons can't play during the day...at least not in plain sight.

So every morning, I hold my crutch and trek to the old park where I can gaze on your fleeting beauty, not knowing whether it'd be my last.

But I have hope.

Hope that tomorrow will come.

And I'll be able to gaze upon your beauty...

...once again.