I’m grateful for a spark of hope.

The day that death is welcome
Is the moment a life changes.
It’s the point that hope,
The last star left in Pandora’s chest,
Is put out, a tiny flame
In a human heart,
That fragile, ever-beating
Thing, created from the dust
Of endless past, of cosmic time,
And no sense of time at all.
The first flame, and the last;
The flare of all things past.

I know I’ve written about hope before; but specifically, I am grateful for the sun and lovely weather in the place I’m in because it’s revived some spark of hope that things will be better.