Hope was born in the water.
And oh!
how it glistened.
And they sang her song along the way,
but not an ear listened.
And she surfaced for a brief gasp.
Oh the violins how they played!
How her faith it gently swayed.
She surfaced with so much joy.
Anchored with a buoy.
So she played and she played.
Brave little girl.
Curious in this scary little world.
She met verity on the shore.
And they skipped through dusty dunes.
Love letter to her Baghdad.
Drowned in salty seas.
Memories like dancing streams.
Oh the green green grass.
The sun kissed hair.
She moved on to that cleaner air.
She even played, in sky scraping land.
She even walked those Gothic streets.
She even prayed in passive churches.
Turquoise mosques,
Not ready for purchase.
And somewhere along the way,
She forgot to float.
She forgot to swim.
She forgot to let all that beauty in.
The sand felt different.
The water less clear.
Though she crossed the desert.
She now wondered with fear.
She was burned with a question.
Will he ever see?
Peripheral vision.
Grain of sand me?
Was it a dream?
Or her intuition?
She collected bags of cynicism,
Criticism.
Changed her mission.
Oh the water! how it glowed!
Yes,
She was born by the streams,
but it rarely showed.
Let me see it again.
She turned to heaven.
Baptised in the illusion.
Baptised in the illusion.
Let me believe again.
She would welcome the delusion.
At least it was hopeful.
At least it was naive.
At least she could say,
I still believe.
