“Hope” is the thing with tentacles –
That lurks in shadowed eave –
And sings along with maddened pipers –
And will never, ever leave –
And alluring – in the Vale – is heard –
And great must be the Rite –
That could banish the tenebrous form –
That made restless many a night –
I’ve heard it in the deepest wood –
And in an unmapped alley –
Yet – never – in long hours,
It asked to, timeless, dally.
Obviously, I took inspiration and form for my poem from the work of a legend, but that’s how creativity works. At least that is how my creativity often works.
It is also quite possible I have a different mental image of “hope” than the average poet.
(Photo Credit: ILoveToTakePhotos on Pixabay)