Hope

'What is hope?' I ask of you,
'Is it something false or something true?'
Looking back, it seems I never knew
until I found myself hoping for you.

Of hope and prayer I would once make light,
I called them 'fear, clad in white',
but here I find myself hoping that you just might
pull through, and so I readjust my sight.

I was wrong, I know this much,
in calling things like prayer a crutch.
Now I sit and clasp my hands, as such
that your fate, perhaps, I can touch.

'What is hope?' I preach to you,
'It is not false, but eternally true'
It's the only thing I know I can do,
extending this hope and love to you.