Inside me is a reservoir of hope.
It has been backed up so long
by a dam of rationality and fear
it has almost forgotten
it was once a river.
It’s become slack and fecund
and way too still.
Once it moved freely,
transforming everything it touched;
once it brought change
and nourishment and life.
Hope was never meant to be trapped,
to be tamed, commodified, it was always
meant to flow through.
Ever since it became a workhorse,
forced into service,
it’s lost its true power.
But lately, each time I
hear a story of someone else’s courage
to meet what is most frightening,
I feel a brick come out of the dam.
And when I am brave myself,
I feel it inside me again,
the rush, the push, the organic
wild current of hope.