Narrow is the boundary
of "now" and "not-yet"
Deep and dark it stretches
like an ancient passageway
no map has ever marked.
One by one we walk it
step by solitary step.
Not hand in hand,
Not side by side,
But sounding the distance with our tears.
Hope is the chorus sounding, "Come!"
Hope is the embrace, waiting to welcome.
Hope is the companion,
In-Between . . .
How terribly the rice suffers under the pestle!
But it emerges polished, as white as cotton.
The same process tempers the human spirit:
Hard trials shape us into polished diamonds.