At the Gate of Hope

 

Beyond the rusted locks, hope still softly breathes-

a trembling flame beside a guarded door.

I stand here, Justice, hair tangled, breath uneven,

yet my eyes refuse to surrender their promise.

Before my gate, they gather-mother and children,

outlined against a sky bruised by time.

Their faint but fearless laughter echoes through broken streets,

collecting shards of dreams the world tried to deny.

The city’s walls, blistered in relentless heat,

listen more to coins than to the human heart.

I watch their small hands cling to scraps of tomorrow,

their eyes already carrying fears too old for their age.

Doubt shadows every step they take,

their future cracked beneath weary feet.

But the mother’s patient smile tells me

that tears alone cannot fill an empty plate.

Truth lies like an ancient book on a forgotten shelf-

its once-thunderous pages now coated in silence,

waiting for courage, waiting for choice.

I ache to open it again.

Even night here bears unhealed wounds-

dawn rests trembling at its edge.

One day, I will rise with her,

without looking back, without apology.

With resolve sharp as splintered nails,

I will push the corroded gate aside,

let sunlight pour into the darkened halls,

and send the hiding shadows fleeing.

On that day, voices will speak of dawn,

not of coins or fleeting gain.

Eyes will carry steady strength

greater than trembling hands ever could.

Then I will sit at the humble table-

not in grandeur, but as bread freely shared,

a common gift, a sacred trust,

hope returned, a future restored.

And here, as I wait before this gate,

I can feel that promise growing-

a dawn rising, strong and unshaken,

born from love and courage we all will claim.