This is the continuation of a poem I posted yesterday. Still on Dickinson and the inspiration it gives me. Read the first part here
Do you think hope can be killed? Like a bird in a cage Whose wings are clipped And isn't allowed to fly
Do you think hope can be miserable? Like a child full of dreams But squashed and told to sit And everything taken away
Is hope a lie? A way we convince ourselves That we'd get through it Day by day as we refuse to see the truth
Is hope dead? A joke born from hatred Lost dreams Regrets, wishes
Do you think hope is unhappiness? Alone, ashamed Broken pieces that can't be fixed Dead, yes dead
