With Fingers Crossed
The Quiet Power of Hope and Anticipation
This is how it feels
with fingers crossed,
a quiet hope rising,
not that I am filled with certainty,
but in the space of anticipation, the wish
anchors every heartbeat,
doubts lingering, their weighty presence softened —
a slow, expectant moment like a breath
held tight. Hope
would have been elusive,
if not for the doubts,
if not for the waiting —
because, of course, I am hopeful,
having faced the unknown
here, in this place of dreams,
their whispers promising a future
bright, a hesitant refuge. No certainty
here in this constant hope.
In this breathless anticipation,
hope wraps around the anxious heart —
always soothing deeper, past fear,
past hesitation. Somewhere in the crossing
lies the essence of belief. Somewhere hope
holds steady, forever enduring,
warm, persistent, unafraid of doubt.
I once felt such a hopeful wish,
strong as my deepest fears.
I reached out — held tight, let go —
found it to be true. The belief
was long cherished by the time I learned to trust
myself and call it hope. Even now the wish
still stirs the soul. It needs no reason to
dispel the fear. For them, hope
never faltered, never transformed into doubt.
I stand with fingers crossed, enveloped
by hope, a gentle shield against fear.
I listen for the promise and hold my doubts
close. A slow, expectant presence, soft as a hopeful wish.
In the delicate space of hope, where fingers are crossed and wishes are held close, lies a profound sense of anticipation and belief. This poem explores the emotional landscape of waiting and hoping, capturing the essence of trust and the gentle strength found in the act of believing in a brighter future. It is a reflection on the enduring power of hope to soothe and inspire, even in the face of uncertainty.
