Hope

On the slippery banks

armoured with mud

and rocks,

the man wades through

a steaming swamp plagued

by leeches;

his skin clad in

mud steel and sweltering sweat

to protect,

not against parasites

or the scorching sun

burning down;

in the water's depth

await the golden bits

for discovery,

the fortunate soul able

to discern the glow

beyond the waves of hope.

Reviews

[Kruppz]

That's beautifully written. Like the shortest movie ever. I like the last stanza and it really did bring to my mind the end part of Shawshank Redemption. I could feel it. I mean both - the movie's end and your poem's end - bring out the same emotion. Good job! Thank You.