For hope is like a river down the streets of those their lands seems to be dry.

Today I write, not by sadness or my depressed feelings, but by the hope that I always feel deep down within me.

For some time I have lived in sadness and in tribulations, but my soul today, gives me a bit of joy inaugurated to my spirit as I write.

Hope runs through the cracks of my depressed soul, where depression left me with nothing else but drought, as my joy and peace were drained out all day I cried the tears of sadness.

It is like a cold cloth on a hot day placed on the top of my forehead. Giving me a cold breeze that softens and silences my overwhelming spirit. 

For so long I have lived, seeing the flowers of my beautiful garden of my future shatter as fear creeped into my mind like the sun creeps into the shadows, burning and literally killing the vessels of my beautiful flowers. 

But still, hope runs down the dry soil to wetten it up, so I am to breathe again to the wonderful garden of my future. 

The streams are like an unseen hand from the heavens, able to reach beyond every obstacle, for my fears and worries are like rocks that obstruct the ways of the running water from reaching each and every root that desires hope. 

Today I write, and I am hopeful that one day, it may not be today or tomorrow, not even the next two year, but one day, my season will shine brighter as spring welcomes the beauty of summer. 

Today I write, and I am hopeful.