Where Hope Grows

In forgotten soil, where sorrow sleeps, A wounded seed still softly keeps. Its roots reach down through grief and stone, And bloom where light has never shone. Hope is not the gentle spring, It’s rain that falls on broken wings. It’s breath that rises after cries, A single flame that never dies. In ruins left by love’s decay, Hope whispers things words can’t convey. It finds its home in shattered hearts, In empty rooms where healing starts. For even pain becomes the ground Where fragile dreams are newly found. And though the night may never end, Hope learns to glow — not just to mend. So when the world forgets your name, And every prayer returns the same, Look close — beneath the ash, the scar Hope blooms the most where sorrows are.