There is a hope in a prayer

                 Today's count is so much better than
yesterday's rubbings. The past is where it belongs: as
lessons learned, pulls of loosen strands and drawing
closer to a peace that today has yet to acquire.

                Ah but I shall not seek the negativity even
though the words want to express. I still will see, find
one joy in moments of heartache and turmoil. Only
because Jehovah has taught me that, leaning upon
him for the understanding.

                Slowly I wake up to the cool breeze lifting
copper strands into a kind dance around ivory and
slate. Indeed as much as I want to voice a good
morning I hesitate because a bit of reserved
disappointment reigns within. The feeling that my
kindness, my love extends just as far as me causing
me to be carefully curious.

                Shh I press the tears back. There is so much
I am grateful for, this morning. Following the pulls
of simplicity I settle into my morning routine. The
hope of a good day vibrates and any surprises will
shock.

               Yes I hold no one in arms but I do dream.
Clearly of hopes, laughter and a bit of kindness where
love has replaced the empty stares. Ever quiet I grow
just observing the layers exposed for a warm
thanksgiving, a sincere prayer.

              The asking of help, the praising of my Father,
Jehovah and the whispers of my tormented dispairs
all find grooved homes inside a prayer. Indeed I am
specific even in my wants. Jehovah knows and I will
soon learn the outcome.

              Strongly I step forward with goals I have made.
Hoping that the desires of pleasing Jehovah are at
every turn. In days of uncertainty I hold to Jehovah for
making me capable to endure. In the dancing days
of overwhelming joy and laughter I hope the wants find
themselves knocking upon my door.

              So carefully I emerge from the doorway into the
darkened morning air. Saying my thanksgiving to
Jehovah for one more day to learn, to breathe and to
endure. Indeed I am here, standing all because of
Jehovah.

               So I only hope that the distance pressed,
placed in odd spaces find ropes to pull closer once
more. Calling out to me, I hope to hear, read the words
of family that are dear to me. I hope that their
words uplifting and create grand bits of love for
this increasing gap of blah is hurting me. I tire of
always leaping for joy onto the brick wall, it scars.

              So speak as we have done before. I miss
the words very much, the laughter. The stern coldness
is killing the quirky brat.

                            Yes I hope.