At the loan office, hope draped her coat around me,
and my trembling hand steadied, and the ink flowed.
Hope, in her snow-white dress, waved her wings, and I forgot
my worries, finding courage to guide the pen.
Hope guided me through the labyrinth and led me out.
She never spoke, only pointed me in the right direction.
The trail was broken glass and wildflowers,
the journey arduous. Yet hope kept my breath steady
as I reached for the exit.
Self-doubt and pessimism tried to discourage me, saying
it was not safe to travel the road I had chosen.
But hope told me: safety is a door I must open
before deciding to stop moving forward, to stop fighting.
Hope and her enemies argued like lawyers.
Self-doubt rattled his papers: the evidence is thin.
Hope raised her hand: the bridge still stands.
I banged the gavel and pronounced my judgment.
I chose hope, and the other two vanished, defeated.
A flickering light caught in the ink—
enough to sign the next page of my life.
