"Hope" is the thing with feathers

By Emily Dickinson 

"Hope" is the thing with feathers - 

That perches in the soul - 

And sings the tune without the words - 

And never stops - at all - 


And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - 

And sore must be the storm - 

That could abash the little Bird 

That kept so many warm - 


I've heard it in the chillest land - 

And on the strangest Sea - 

Yet - never - in Extremity, 

It asked a crumb - of me. 

   This poem is currently what's saving me from going insane and I'm panicking but at the same time know that this doesn't mean the end that this should not end me because once I do that's when I know I've let them beat me...