Hope

This the second part of the story of the abandoned Asian girl that I first painted when I was nine.
After her long communion with God in the mute field she was drawn to the hill of the blossoms where now she rests in a golden dress and smells each fragrant branch.
Behind her are foggy lakes, gray sky, gray mountains and sad memories which she’s left behind.
But on the top of the hill there’s a spirit of hope and love.

-Akiane

Hope

The war in the soil.
The seeds are too young to fight.
While the eyes breathe
the guilty still feel no remorse.
The cobwebs with knots.

Across the blades of harvest
improper dreams wrinkle the childhood.
Without any cries
and without any touch
the cradles are left behind.

Bleeding
through hopeless unconsciousness
it seems that a rainbow gushes through me.
And rainbow-colored
I leak out onto the hope.

A silhouette of the eyes
follow me
to the warmth of times.
Only the innocence
grows the conception.

Held in dust
the pain of wisdom.
The trust is through hope.
Inside each fragrant branch
the colors of love…