the optimist, waiting
Hope sits out here, glittering,
like a hill of ruby quartz
in the middle of a plain of
dry grass, the wind blowing.
The sun strikes it, and it sparkles,
casting light like shooting stars
blinding and brilliant.
And then the clouds grumble in,
blocking the light. Rain falls,
the ruby rock.
...but also, washing it clean
of dirt, dead leaves and ashes.
The sun shines again,
and it glitters, brightly.
How long until the rains wear it down?
How long can hope hold out,