Sand carried by wind,
rain swallowed by drought.
Yet a smile rises in the eyes;
the quiet joy of sharing
a single cup of food,
the path that leads to school,
the first trembling drops
of water returning to a village.

Roads forced upon people,
hopes gathered like scattered seeds,

awaiting patiently

for the touch of light...
Sunsets folding into darkness.
The hush surrounding a newborn,
the raw, echoing cry of a mother.

Chances taken,
changes unfolding,
horizons opening like light after dust.

 

And so…
isn’t every journey,
in the end,
a beginning made of hope?

​

-Vincent Tremeau