Hope is the last-born of that cold and empty earth called Fear,
and it is the only of its kind.
Given cruel eyes to judge the world for that which it cannot be;
a vast and gaping breadth to store within it all that will be instead;
and wings that were taught gentleness only after learning power.
Despair is that first flight of Hope
as it learns to fight with each of its feathers
against the gravity that it was born into.
It climbs jaggedly up to a further freedom
gnawing at that fickle creature that is Failure,
grieving what it will not be, for it yearns to soar far past that pitiful impossibility.
And still it rises up and up
defining its zenith in every new moment
remanding all that is wrong to a new haven:
that place called Grace
that renumbers and renames.
It will know no god, Hope, save for the one it finds in itself,
for it is its own light, and it will allow none
to shine brighter than its perfect glow.
It is ruthless and arrogant and selfish
because it has learned that it must be to keep
the beat of its wings strong against the infinitum
of that which can break it.
As it passes overhead, you will hear no words.
But the very ground you stand on will shake
to the tempo of its heartbeat;
the rhythm of freedom will find purchase in your being;
and for the first time, you will light that fire that is True Courage.
It is then that Hope will crest its peak;
all things will look new,
and you will know that each day holds within it eternity
such that there is no need for any other passion but delight.
And when it at last comes to rest,
it will set down near the King to feed on His radiance.
It will then have accomplished that which was purposed it:
to bring even one pair of grievous and sallow eyes
to face that illumined throne.