I have been having a hard time writing something this past week. Work, class, and a social life have really taken up a lot of my creative juices. So I have been lacking with my writing and my passion. Truly a sad day.

I was reading some poetry today. It brings me such peace and creativity. I love the way the words and the emotions that embody these works of art invade and penetrate the human spirit. It is also one of the biggest ways that God communicates through to me; true story. I am actually, in the process of memorizing a few W.B. Yeats poems in order to recall them in conversation, yeah it's sounds less cool than it really is. I think Donald Miller would be proud.

Anyway, I was reading some Keats this morning and I stumbled across a poem that I had never read before. It is entitled "To Hope." Such a simple phrase, yet such power behind the feeling itself. I have heard that "hope differed makes the heart sick." I know that if we don't see th fruit of our hopes and dreams, we become battered, bruised, and embittered. Trust no longer is a part of who we are and becomes a luxary that we cannot afford. But this poem changes the mindset. To him (the speaker, possibly John Keats), hope is a source of safety and protection. It keeps him focused on the grand scheme of what he is doing. Hope become practical, it is real. Granted, maybe not everyone shares my opinion, but I felt like sharing something that has changed my view of an emotion/feeling that keeps me pointed toward the future, and keeps me aware of the potential in the people I meet. I hope this speaks something to you as well...

To Hope

WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit,

When no fair dreams before my - mind’s eye - flit,

And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;

Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,

And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,

Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,

Should sad Despondency my musings fright,

And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,

Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof,

And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,

Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;

When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,

Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:

Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,

And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear

Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,

O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;

Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:

Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,

And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

Should e’er unhappy love my bosom pain,

From cruel parents, or relentless fair;

O let me think it is not quite in vain

To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!

Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,

And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,

Let me not see our country’s honour fade:

O let me see our land retain her soul,

Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom’s shade.

From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed -

Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot’s high bequest,

Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!

With the base purple of a court oppress’d,

Bowing her head, and ready to expire:

But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings

That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star

Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;

Brightening the half veil’d face of heaven afar:

So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,

Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,

Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head.