Hope is the thing with feathers

Hope—

It isn't loud. It never shouts.

It hides in silence, in the doubts.

It slips between the broken cracks,

A whispered song that always comes back.

One moment still, the next it soars,

A breath behind unopened doors.

It perches deep inside the soul,

Where shattered dreams still hope to grow.

It dances through the hardest night—

Not blazing fire, but subtle light.

Sometimes it stings. Sometimes it soothes.

Sometimes it’s lost—then gently moves.

You’ll hear it when the thunder calls,

When courage stumbles, when the heart stalls.

It clings to tears, to trembling hands,

To those who barely understand.

It doesn’t beg, it doesn’t plead,

It simply is—when most in need.

No coin, no trade, no weight to bear—

Yet somehow, always… it is there.

So if you break—completely fall,

If shadows press, if voices crawl,

Let silence come. Then listen deep—

For hope has wings that never sleep.