Hope by Neil Creighton When the hidden rip sucks out beyond the blue swell uncurling noisily upon the sand, out beyond the raucous sea-birds circling, soaring and dipping above the white topped crests, out into dark, trackless waste where the moving water mountain towers glass smooth and sheer and over its vast plateau top waves foam and rumble in irresistible chaos, then only surrender remains, letting the mighty surge sweep where it will, holding in a few tiny cells the longing for a gentler swell to wash slowly back into some sheltered cove where the patterned ripples kiss the yellow sand, where hope fills the clear blue sky and the whole glorious world shines again bright and new.
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