Hold Fast

pen and ink drawing from my sketchbook, Within

pen and ink drawing from my sketchbook, Within

Hold Fast

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

a drawing I did in June, it inspired the phrase and subsequent poem, Hang Your Hopes From Trees

a drawing I did in June, it inspired the phrase and subsequent poem, Hang Your Hopes From Trees

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.

 

 

 

 

 

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