Hope.

Hope, that brittle little notion, dancing on a cliff.

Walking on that edge scares me until I’m stiff.

Stiff, stuffed and paralyzed, full of fear inside.

To take another step is to take a wild ride.

On one side you may fall until you’re dead and dead.

On the other lie the poppies screwing with your head.

A narrow road, a narrow path, is laid before my sight.

And the only doubt that scares me is what if I’m not right.

The path of God before me that I think of as my life,

seems to have such a narrow margin ‘tween hope and enmeshed strife.

For every breath that blows is step in a direction.

A battle every day to enter into resurrection.

That the cross won’t leave me is my wine and bread.

My hope to gaze eternally and adore His holy head.

It’s there, that sight that drives me on along the edge.

Banishing fear, banishing fear, hope is my solemn pledge.

Thirteenth Station - Jesus Dies on the Cross

Joshua Fahey is a Chestertonian whose muse had a poem in mind instead of an essay. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s