A poem about hope and grace

This spring I entered a poetry contest in which the theme was hope and grace. I did not win or receive mention but I immensely enjoyed the challenge to craft a poem. However, I did struggle to connect hope and grace. Last night I attended a reading of the winning poem and two honorable mentions. They were well done indeed, personal-heartfelt. My poem was far more distanced from my personal experience.

Then again, whenever I go to Greece I do sense the gods are not far away, lurking in the shade, watching us foolish mortals — mortals who think they can write poetry to challenge the deathless ones. But I decided to share my poem anyway. Don’t be mad, Apollo.

What is left

I knew the box was off limits.

But surely one little peek…

Oh dear.

This was a terrible mistake.

Everything is moving so fast around me,

Closing the box lid — too late, but what is that chirping whisper from within?

Hope!

I know now that my destiny was to offer that one shining gift,

Hope.

It circles my head, flies out the window.

It is that thing with feathers —

Hope.

I flit around the world, offering this gift to all,

Those souls in despair, pain, numb from the human condition,

All seeking…

Hope.

Time and space shift and I have become a myth in a cloudy dream.

Yet still I linger in the shadows and gently hold out my box,

Within — that small bird,

Its tiny heart beating gracefully against my palm,

Ever ephemeral and ever promising that change will come —

Hope.

Some rename it Grace — as a gift from some distant deity,

A kind of pixie dust, perhaps?

But we older ones know that Hope and Grace are one,

As the wings that carry us up and the heart that beats the promise.

I offer my box to you:

Full of Hope,

Take it with Grace

I, Pandora, gift you the mystery of living in this world.