Through a window high above the concrete,
you can hear the birds singing.
It’s an acapella symphony,
chirps like violins carved into trees.
Hope clutters the sky
It reaches as high as it can
towards the sun
Hope has learned to fly,
to belong to something bigger than anyone can see.
God does not keep hope in a cage
in his living room.
Hope is a messenger,
reminding the earth
that it is made of,
that it is because
of love.
When I saw the way your eyes shined,
the birdsong came in
through my heart’s open window.
It was like the summer sky had come down,
was knocking at my door,
inviting me to dance barefoot
across hot pavement.
I longed to fall in love
with the flutter
of a butterfly’s wings
and the shape
of every flower.
You were something like hope.
Like you had looked it in the eye
and decided the whole world
needed to know.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 9:18 PM UTC
Through a window high above the concrete,
you can hear the birds singing.
It’s an acapella symphony,
chirps like violins carved into trees.
Hope clutters the sky
It reaches as high as it can
towards the sun
Hope has learned to fly,
to belong to something bigger than anyone can see.
God does not keep hope in a cage
in his living room.
Hope is a messenger,
reminding the earth
that it is made of,
that it is because
of love.
When I saw the way your eyes shined,
the birdsong came in
through my heart’s open window.
It was like the summer sky had come down,
was knocking at my door,
inviting me to dance barefoot
across hot pavement.
I longed to fall in love
with the flutter
of a butterfly’s wings
and the shape
of every flower.
You were something like hope.
Like you had looked it in the eye
and decided the whole world
needed to know.