Propaganda for Boats

Hope is a boat;
I am that boat.
I am hope.

Sail if you can
or sink
or float
but I am hope
and my hope is boat
with a rope
that extends
past the traits and the tropes
and you can grab on
and I’ll keep you afloat
with your head above water
and your heart full of hope.

Hope is a rope
and a salty sea
so dense with the earth
that it keeps you afloat.
With the rope
and the sea that invites you to float,
you can rest in the water,
you can float on the hope.

Hope is spun,
hope is built;
it can crumble like crackers
and be born from the tilt of a head, or
hatched from the lilt of a bar of a hymn,
voices gaining strength,
picking up steam,
verses sung again,
streaming live
from a station hard to find
only picked up by some
echoing around in/outside of minds.

Hope is a kingdom:
it crumbles
and is rebuilt
a million times over
in a life,
in a week,
in an election,
in the relief of shaking off your troubles
and resting your cheek
against something that most assuredly feels
like
your
own.

Hope is manufactured when surrounded by despair.
Hope is a boat and a rope
and a sea that always keeps you afloat,
and is conjured from thin air.
Hope is a boat.
I am that boat.
I am hope.
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