“Things will get better” and “there is hope” may be true,
But sometimes these words are like sugar for a cavity too.
For, life is not gentle to hopes built on cliches and decorative sand,
And in a storm, some hopes have no legs with which to stand.
I am no stranger to seeing hopes battered and shattered,
And the remnants remaining blown far and scattered.
Some have disintegrated in slow and steady drifts,
While others have succumbed to sudden circumstantial shifts.
Either way, hope deferred makes the heart gravely sick,
And the progression of that disease can be scarily quick.
“Stay hopeful” is easy to say, but in the valley, it is hard to do.
Especially when it seems like you’re trapped rather than passing through.
Yet, in the desolate places, I have discovered I am not alone.
You are with me in the darkness and I am not on my own.
Your hands are skilled to make broken and cynical people whole,
And therefore, I can say that Your hope is still the anthem of my soul.
You are faithful and you will not put me to shame,
Nor will you quench this weary, smoldering flame.
Though the wind still rages and many days seem dark as night,
Your hope remains faithful, shining like a candle oh so bright.
This poem was inspired in part by Switchfoot’s song “Hope is the Anthem” as well as my own personal experiences, especially relating to the sudden death of my dad. I hope and pray it is an encouragement for you in your own valley.