Hi all, I wanted to give you another poem this week! Next week there will be a new essay, so keep an eye out! The title of this poem comes from a line of Emily Dickinson’s famous “Hope is the thing with feathers.”
Read on desktop to preserve the line breaks!
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Love pecked a bloodfall in my heart from hopes that dove upon it like a swoop of birds. Prometheus’s eagle was less cruel: its cruel appearance augured its cruel feast, but mine were gentle-feathered, singing things, cooing and trilling with a treble voice that lulled me with longing. Pierced and martyred, chained to the dull ache of this my rocky faith (O Love!) and foundering, I gather strength in pain. They steal the shadow of my self, and yet the substance still remains, renewed in phoenix fire and indurated, pure. Come hopes, and come despairs, they cannot touch me, however much they pluck in fruitless hunt.
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I love the ending. So positive! Speaks about inner strength so beautifully.