A Whisper Named Hope© By Felina Silver Copyright 2025

A Veinful of Hope

Through my veins pulses a whisper—
the quiet thrum of something fragile yet fierce:
hope.
A lifeline in a world split wide open,
bleeding chaos no one dares claim.

Storms howl through systems built to deceive,
while thrones are battled for
by hands not clean,
and hearts not kind.
Fear lingers—
that the wrong rulers will rise,
that the Earth no longer trusts us
to hear her aching, ancient cries.

She wonders:
Will they come too late?
Will they hush the harm
before her breath gives out?

The beasts grow bold,
not out of rebellion,
but confusion—
drawn to warmth that once was wilderness.
We have stepped too far,
trespassed too often—
but where is the boundary
between what is ours
and what we were meant to share?

Still…
as long as the clock turns,
as long as breath moves,
hope lives.

But it cannot live alone.

Does that sacred current
run through your veins too?
If so, let it rise.
Let it roar.
Let it move your hands to healing.

Hope to it—
the hourglass is thinning.