"Hope"

My flame had gone out
but You found an ember

Coaxed it
Blew on it
Shielded it

I am rekindled
The fire shall blaze again

"A Fistful Of Air"

I take aim with my bow

and realize my quiver,

once full,

has been neglected

My arrows are sharp

and wonderfully made

They'd sure fly straight

But I've scattered them,

left them behind

I can pull

until muscles ache

or bow breaks

But no target will I strike,

nor prize will be won,

shooting with a fistful of air