Emily Dickinson: A Rebuttal

Hope is not the thing with feathers that perches in the soul

A delicate creature, frail, whimsical and small;

No, Hope is a force of nature far greater than a storm

She is a battered and mighty soldier who is marching on to war.

Hope is a rising phoenix with a tail made of fire;

Hope is fearless faith and the newfound strength of one's desire.

Hope is not the tune without the words that never stops at all;

No, Hope is pride, and standing dignified, as you sail through the thrall.


Life is a strange dichotomy.

One moment you're miserable and broken, curled up in your bed, painfully alone.

The next, you're flying on a bike, the wind in your hair, the sky so blue it hurts, and you realize just how endless the possibilities are that lie in front of you, and how radiant the future is.

First comes despair, so deep you've gone blind. Second comes Hope, such a powerful Hope it almost scares you; now the light, not the darkness, is blinding.

Despair is weak, but Hope is a force to be reckoned with. Hope is stronger than a hurricane, and the most beautiful days are the ones you find yourself in her Eye.