"sing sweet hope..."

If
hope,
as
Miss Emily* avers,

"... is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all..."

then regret is
the snake
that
would
pull her from the
branch and
feed upon
her
fledglings...

and doubt,

oh cunning
conspirator,
doubt
is
the darkness that
allows regret
to hide
until
he strikes without
warning
to
paralyze all that hope
would
give flight to

so what of hope's
defender,
who is her advocate

it is Truth.

Truth,
ever awake
within
herself
carries sickle and
scythe to clear the underbrush
of confusion and
perseverative self-distrust

she exposes
not the earth-bound...
barren ruts  of doubt and fear...
but
the
un-cluttered
ground,
rudiment,
foundation,
reason for hope's
relentless song...

it
is
solid
Love
she rests her
promise
on.

Whatever hope
dreams
is rooted in Love's rich
soil.

Sing sweet bird of hope
your wings are
strong...you are not tethered to
the earth,
your are grounded in Love. 

You cannot fly without the
balance of pull and
loft,
without the movement of air...
as it dances
along the valley

the singing,
undulating breath of
Spirit's
grace-notes
taking their course
building and retreating,
ebb and flow, 
through the trees and boulders,
up, over the hills...
sweeping
down the canyon and
beyond the ridge
to whisper and
laugh along
a brooklet of purest
Truth

fly and sing
sweet hope

do not linger on
shaken
branch or
nest

fly far
sweet hope
your
dreams are lifted
on the wings
of
Spirit's
dance
with
her partner,
Truth...

rising
from
the
holy,
sacred
ground of 
Love.


* Emily Dickinson