Hope

                                It is the thing with feathers
                                fallen in angels' flight
                                wearing this air of sweetness
                                that peacefully resides;

                                It is the fragrant garden
                                I walk through in my dreams
                                of flowers in blissful shadows
                                beneath mild sunlight's beams;

                                It lies beyond the you and me
                                beyond the crooked path,
                                the wounding stings,
                                the daggers in our chests;

                                It understands, forgives and sees
                                it is the Yet, nevertheless,
                                truth, trust, belief,
                                the final reason;

                                It feeds the sky from a small heart
                                where it expands to, free and bound
                                ― and it grows trees
                                from smallest seeds
                                that hold a heaven in their arms.


This poem is inspired by Emily Dickinson (314).