Pouring Water Into a Pessimist
Can I swim the desert where the sea died
or does sand filled lungs fear drowning?
Out where my echo coughs with grit
tomorrow is an erasure wind
condemned to whisk a footprint’s progression
into the mirage of never begun.
Hope is a doorway placed in the middle of empty
to pour a glass half full.
The why is known…The can be encouraged.
I am a river of one hoping to become
a flood filled with dreamers.
©Susie Clevenger 2020