When hope is undone, the world just seems wrong,
can’t allow hate a voice within this throng.
Turn your back as a sword covers the pen,
won’t take my will to write, not even then.
Advice from the wise, throw hope a life-line.
Feathered hope, Emily wrote in her time;
a way through is hope, according to Frost,
or Yeats’ daughter of hope when all seems lost.
Remain alive, your hope must rise supreme,
Poe described as “A Dream within a Dream”.
One path followed, even one less traveled,
hopelessness must fade, its cause unraveled.
Remember your voice, when choices are found,
Mem’ries of joy now, let new hope resound.
Julie A. Dickson