The Buckets

It’s dark and gloomy and I can not see my toes.

The sky is pitch black, my stomach feels tight.

Where do I turn on this cold black night?

I’m surrounded by poverty, hate, and war but I hold on to something much more.

It’s what has kept me going and is what I can’t live without,

just a precious drop of hope makes me have no doubt.

It may seem foolish and that is true but hope is what makes things not seem so blue.

When you don’t have hope you cannot be free, you’ll just continue to live deep under the sea.

When you live in the depths for so long with buckets of anger and buckets of hate and no hope, then where is your purpose?

You will stay buried and stare up into the sky only to see darkness.

The light is pushing, it’s calling you, it’s a little thing called hope.

It shines directly in front of your eyes but yet you are blind to it because the buckets are weighing you down.

Your fingers slip and the buckets fall, now you are free after all.



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