NOVEMBER’S HOPE

Armida C. Merciales

The rain sounds like a death march for those who are battling despair. heavy hearts danced the pain away yet tears are to be found nowhere.

Cursed with your own thoughts With fear of what lies ahead “Is it alright to stop for what I’ve fought? and lie with the stars instead?”

Longing filled the empty corners Neither of us are “whole”. But, the dandelions still blossomed Perhaps, as well as our souls. Hush... heart, mind, soul Whose arguments never intersect One body yet never been whole A life that wishes to resurrect,

to resurrect the joy it once knew. Such as the dandelion, by the wind, it blew To far places, who knows where. Yet, still grows, and finds freedom somewhere.

The rain sounds like a music box for those who are battling themselves heavy hearts marched the night away In search of hope to be found, someday.