Friday, April 24, 2009

When Hope Can Kill


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 chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson

This has been a favorite poem of mine for years, and one that I often read to my children.

However, when I was in counseling, my counselor often reminded me that I was too hopeful. She often talked about the book, When Hope can Kill, which I have yet to read.

1 comment:

  1. I find that hope is often a longing to make life in my image rather than accept life as it is. I can only change what I have the power to change, and whatI have the power to change is me, and me alone.