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