Hope

Hope is the Thing with Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson (1861)

Phoenix Hope

Swirls of heat top feathery flame

of free flying bird never tamed.

Always there yet out of my reach,

because pain and patience you teach.

Wordless, tuneless song wakes the morn

And my trust in you is reborn.

Scattering sparks like sowing seeds

in the earth for those in need.

Soaring high as the wind unfolds,

yet you’re the only thing I hold.

Falling, searing, gasp of dying

desolation in me crying.

But up from your ashes you rise

to show that Hope never dies.