Hi, all. So, we all know that Emily Dickinson, bless her heart, was a bit of a naive soul. This was the woman, after all, who wrote that “Hope is the thing with feathers” in all apparent sincerity. She meant well, but it seems worthwhile to (politely) correct the lady.
Hence, my poem, which strives towards a more accurate description of Hope. What do you guys think?
Hope is the thing of lead
That weighs down every soul;
Bids us repeat our past mistakes
And always takes its toll.
Hope is the siren in our hearts
That sings us to the rocks;
And I dare say
That it was Hope
First fled Pandora’s box
I’ve heard it in the dead of night
And on the brightest day;
Hope always sends me, 'gainst all sense
Back to the bloody fray.