𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗔 𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺

Strings of Hope

there was once this string of hay,
it was short,
thin,
and weak.

it kept itself safe as it would break often,
having to repair itself over,
and over,
and over.

as time passed,
it only became weaker.

there wasn't much to keep it alive,
a Hope was lost.

it decided to numb itself down,
shrinking and not caring for itself,
because no matter how many overs,
the breaking never ended.

one day,
the string became plastic.

it was odd—
one cannot fix a string of plastic,
only knot it back together.

somehow,
the string grew.

plastic is mendable,
easy to stretch.

it had a spark within itself,
and began believing again,
for there was still Hope to be faithful in.

the longer time passed,
the string began to take care of itself;
knotting—although harder—gave purpose to life,
and when it realized this,
it became something new.

a silver string,
longer than before,
stronger than before.

for it gave itself meaning,
and stopped searching for any in others.

silver was harder to fix,
for you must melt the points together,
align them perfectly,
and ever so carefully,
mend the broken trust back together.

the string told itself,
this was it:
once here,
there wasn't anywhere to go.

silver seemed the best,
even if it only ever made up second place medals.

being second best never bothered the string,
because how hard would it be,
to mend a priceless metal?

silver was fine.

until it wasn't.

Hope became too strong,
and so the spark created gold.

a gold string,
the longest of the strings so far,
the strongest of them of all.

it was thick,
and could withstand anything.

sure,
the string felt discouraged,
for fixing gold came with it's hardships.

gold meant working hard,
and back when it was only hay,
the string had accepted a life of no work—
a life in defeat.

but gold held first place,
and Hope never seemed so strong.

yet the string was just,
well,
a string.

a mere line between those other metals it so much craved to be,
yet could never succeed.

for life had meaning,
only if it was to strive more,
and wish for more—
the string hungered for more.

it forced a spark,
asking for diamond.

diamonds,
as expensive as they may be,
were not the strongest,
so Hope made it's work,
and gave the string something else.

fabric.

the string—
confused at the lack of strength,
overwhelmed with the length that he thought could never be outdone from gold—
begged to go back.

Hope denied it,
and let the string be.

meaning changed,
life became less work,
but tons of sewing.

for the string's purpose was to mend others,
and itself.

the string connected paths,
relationships,
and destinies.

it's companion—
a needle happy to finally get some work done—
would show its gratitude to the string.

the string was more than perplexed.

gratitude never came with it's life,
and it then realized that it never was about being the strongest,
but rather having the longest of Patience,
and keeping Hope.

all Strings of Hope,
had learned their lesson,
and stopped begging for more,
for they already had what was needed.