On uneven ground I stand
with hopes tight in my hand
and I string them up on branches in the wind
I hold fast to dreams tonight
and clutch my wishes tight
and unfurl my hands to let them go again
a shudder in my heart
and unease upon my mind
I try not to dwell too long on where I stand
after all that I have faced
within this dark and twisted place
I tell myself it’s all out of my hands
Feeling that sensation of fear, that familiar creeping in of anxiety, that disheartening lack of control. My mind wandered to a poem by Langston Hughes I read long ago in junior high.
“Hold fast to dreams
for if dreams die
life is a broken-winged bird
that can not fly.
Hold fast to dreams
for when dreams go
life is a barren field
frozen with snow.”
Admittedly, my own spin on this idea is a tad bleaker than Mr. Hughes’, as I have lately felt tethered to my dreams and hopes by only a thread, at the mercy of the wind and weather, waiting on that distant snap. Disconnected by fate’s hand. I want to feel secure. I want to linger in my best laid plans, I want to exude confidence and trust.
But, if I’m being honest with myself, I can’t.
Maybe not yet.