© Lindsey Hon Rubendall

Lindsey Hon Rubendall

Poetry Corner


© Lindsey Hon Rubendall

What is hope but the last long cry of determination?

What is hope but the singing dream of liberation?

The final stand, last remnant ghost of belief

harking the call within us all in the moment of greatest need

Our bolden stance of defiance in the face of an impending defeat


Hope is the culminating shimmer of light 

rearing against the verging wall of twilight

Hope is a flower of inextinguishable beauty, delicate and sweet

rising high above a wasteland of thorns and jagged concrete

Hope is the spark igniting the wings of bravery

emerging out of the ash above the armaments of knavery


Hope holds all we will ever be

A testament to a core of deep belief

Where there is hope, there is life

Where there is hope, there is love

With hope there is always a chance to rise above

L. A. Hon Rubendall

About this poem

“Hope holds all we will ever be.”

I wrote this poem at the beginning of 2022 shortly after the outbreak of the war. Fear caught like fire within the hearts and minds of those living with me in Europe. Vulnerable, we stood in horror, our hearts aching for our not so distant neighbours falling under attack. 

Yet, something was happening… something unfathomable on the back of the corona pandemic, years of fearing one another, fearing for ourselves and loved ones – and now with the threat of war, possibly even nuclear – there it was: HOPE. It was in the hearts and spirits of the Ukrainians fighting for their freedom, their homeland, embodied and bolstered by their leaders. 

Hope is a tender thing. Rare and delicate as the most beautiful flower, yet with the strength to move mountains when the circumstances arise. The world is in an extremely difficult period right now, with so much fear and uncertainty about our future or even what tomorrow might bring. 

I’ll be the first to admit: I often feel absolutely hopeless against this sheer wave of darkness and problems that don this Earth like a constant cloak of doom. I know that I am not alone when I question what meaning, what goodness is left for me to bring to this world when everything feels as if it just has no meaning

Yet, even as I catch myself falling down that slippery slope into the abyss of hopelessness, my soul is still searching for that last sliver of light shinning like a beacon on the horizon. Yet is the prelude of hope. The swan song heralding the changing of the tides. As dark as the big picture might currently seem, as cruel and careless as people on this planet may seem – humanity is and will always be that last beacon of hope. 

Keep your light shining. The culmination of each tiny beam brought together as one shines with the strength of a thousand suns.

Poetry Corner

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