Poetry

Distillate

God is
hope,
nothing more,
pile all the
scriptures
on the floor,
absorb them
’till your brain
is sore,
the gift
remains
the same
regardless
the name
you claim
is true.
What lifts
me and you
is hope.
Hope
that the
pain will
pass,
hope
that the
bad
won’t last,
hope
that a
“bigger”
has our
back when
lack
looms
large
and loss
attacks.
Hope,
Hope . . .

Hope

Categories: Poetry

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