If Hope was painted as a picture, how might it be painted?
A lone black dot in a sea of white canvas
given perspective by a line on all sides.
Gazing at the promised land the dot notices that it ebbs like the tides
and flows not straight and narrow but still stretches far beyond his reach.
Although he may be doubtful he feels it's his duty to teach
other little specks about what's out there, beyond the tide.
So he instills in them an eagerness not to bide
their time but to first learn and then fly.
Their happiness sparks a fire in his eye
and propels him to do more than just sit and wait.
He knows he can't just take the bait
of the men fishing for both his life and his soul.
But he also knows he can't just take a stroll
to the other side and join the fisherman at the shore.
His students already know, there must be more
and so away they swim, calling for justice.
He cries out in vain against their ignorance
but already they lay harpooned, bleeding a poisoned red.
The dot wishes they hadn't listened to anything he'd said
and swears to bring others over in their place.
The fishermen chuckle and wait by their base
for the next wave…and the next…and the next.