Grow Some Hope

Somehow, from the barren soil of my soul

there has grown a tree whose naked branches are hope. 

They reach in vine like tendrils

for every drop of starlight,

drinking themselves into manic ecstasy,

pulling down the sky.

Ravenous hope,

twisting and squeezing the clouds

drenching themselves in gathered rain

growing, grasping, breathing

until hope makes a canopy

under which i shelter in patient sorrow,

waiting for the day these branches become kindling

for the fire that avenges me

with smokey sights.