22 Poems About Hope

If you want to live healthy, happy, and successful, you need to have hope. When you hope for better days, hope for peace, and hope for love, you get to enjoy life more and appreciate the good things that you have now. We compiled some of the best poems about hope to remind you of its real meaning and its importance in your life.

Poems About Hope

1. Finding Hope

by: Pat A. Fleming


I’ve always viewed life from the sidelines,

Just watching it passing me by.

In the past, too afraid to just let go and live,

And lately too tired to try.


I’ve envied the people around me

So invested in living each day,

While I spent my time hiding out from the world

And searching for ways to escape.


For most of my life I truly believed

I was here to help somebody else,

But now it’s so clear it was just an excuse.

To avoid living life for myself.


It’s sad that our lives and the pain we endure

Can weaken our strength to move on,

But if we get lost in the scars of our past,

Without knowing our lives will be gone.


It’s true, people are disappointing,

They can turn in the blink of an eye,

But we can’t avoid hurting each other,

When we all want a chance at this life.


But there’s something I’ve learned through the wisdom of age,

A truth about all of our lives,

And that is no matter what path we each take,

In the end, we just want to survive.


So the time has now come to conquer my fears

And to stand up and face a new day.

Let the hurts of my past wash away with my tears

And stop letting my life slip away.


2. Caged Bird

by: Maya Angelou


The free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wings

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.


But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.


The caged bird sings

with fearful trill

of the things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill for the caged bird

sings of freedom


The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn

and he names the sky his own.


But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing


The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

Poems About Hope

3. Now You’ve Recovered

by: Charles A Cino


When you recover, what will you do?

When you recover, will you still be you?

Will you be stronger, will you be new,

When you recover from what you’ve been through.


Can life get better than it was before?

Will you realize your dreams and improve your score?

Will people still remember your name,

Or will they forget you because they’re ashamed?


Life in recovery may not be the same.

The rules may have changed in this brand new game.

You can pick up the pieces and make a new start,

And courage and hope keep you from falling apart.


The world all around you seems different and changed.

Things that once were now seem out of range,

But you can recapture your life and fulfill

The dreams that were lost when you took ill.


The journey to wellness takes time and is long,

And those that get well are exceptionally strong

For depression can kill, but you have survived.

Your goal to recover has kept you alive.


Now you’re recovered, what will you do?

You suffered and conquered and saw it through.

Back from the black and abyss of despair,

It is time to move on; it is time to care.


4. In Good Time

by: Abimbola T. Alabi


Life can seem an endless maze,

The twists and turns, lulls and delays,

But things always fall into place.

In good time.


Friends will sometimes go away.

Some may disappoint or others betray,

But new ones will come to stay.

In good time.


The hurt of getting something wrong,

And the lesson it often brings along

Are there, you see, to make you strong.

In good time.


Kindness freely given away,

Unnoticed now, will somehow find its way

Back to you and come to stay.

In good time.


Efforts seem not to pay to plan?

Forge on friend, doing the best you can.

Fortune will find the deserving man.

In good time.


Life can be tough, there’s no doubt,

But hope is the thing we can’t do without.

Right things with joy will come about.

In good time.


5. In Spite Of War

by: Angela Morgan


In spite of war, in spite of death,

In spite of all man’s sufferings,

Something within me laughs and sings

And I must praise with all my breath.

In spite of war, in spite of hate

Lilacs are blooming at my gate,

Tulips are tripping down the path

In spite of war, in spite of wrath.

“Courage” the morning-glory saith.

“Rejoice” the daisy murmureth,

And just to live is so divine

When pansies lift their eyes to mine.


The clouds are romping with the sea,

And flashing waves call back to me

That naught is real but what is fair,

That everywhere and everywhere

A glory liveth through despair.

Though guns may roar and cannon boom,

Roses are born and gardens bloom,

My spirit still may light its flame

At that same torch whence poppies came.

Where morning’s altar whitely burns

Lilies may lift their silver urns

In spite of war, in spite of shame.


And in my ear a whispering breath,

“Wake from the nightmare! Look and see

That life is naught but ecstasy

In spite of war, in spite of death.”

Poems About Hope

6. As Is Life

by: Albi Demeza


It’s strange the things you remember

And the things you seem to forget.

It’s a jamboree of all sorts,

A patchwork of joys and regrets.


You remember the days when you mess up,

The days when sadness brings tears,

But you forget all those small happy moments

When it’s laughter that brings you to tears.


If only we could be happy forever,

To look forward, not think of the past,

Our lives would be full of elation,

With sadness a ghost of the past.


7. 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.


8. Still I Rise

by: Maya Angelou 


You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.


Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.


Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.


Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?


Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.


You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.


Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?


Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.


Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.


9. Of History and Hope

by: Miller Williams 


We have memorized America,

how it was born and who we have been and where.

In ceremonies and silence we say the words,

telling the stories, singing the old songs.

We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.

The great and all the anonymous dead are there.

We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.

The rich taste of it is on our tongues.

But where are we going to be, and why, and who?

The disenfranchised dead want to know.

We mean to be the people we meant to be,

to keep on going where we meant to go.


But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how

except in the minds of those who will call it now?

The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?

With waving hands oh, rarely in a row

and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.


Who were many people coming together

cannot become one people falling apart.

Who dreamed for every child an even chance

cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.

Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head

cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.

Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child

cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.

We know what we have done and what we have said,

and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,

believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become

just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.


All this in the hands of children, eyes already set

on a land we never can visit it isn’t there yet

but looking through their eyes, we can see

what our long gift to them may come to be.

If we can truly remember, they will not forget.


10. Thanks

By: W.S Merwin


with the night falling we are saying thank you

we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings

we are running out of the glass rooms

with our mouths full of food to look at the sky

and say thank you

we are standing by the water thanking it

standing by the windows looking out

in our directions


back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging

after funerals we are saying thank you

after the news of the dead

whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you


over telephones we are saying thank you

in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators

remembering wars and the police at the door

and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you

in the banks we are saying thank you

in the faces of the officials and the rich

and of all who will never change

we go on saying thank you thank you


with the animals dying around us

taking our feelings we are saying thank you

with the forests falling faster than the minutes

of our lives we are saying thank you

with the words going out like cells of a brain

with the cities growing over us

we are saying thank you faster and faster

with nobody listening we are saying thank you

thank you we are saying and waving

dark though it is


11. A Poem of Hope

by: Catherine Pulsifer


When life is getting you down, and you need a little hope.

Look deep down inside yourself, and you’ll find the way to cope.


When life is getting you down, and you need a little love.

Go to the person whom you are the closest, as the rest they are above.


When life is getting you down, and all you need is a laugh.

Find the friend that makes you smile, they may even be your staff.


When life is getting you down, don’t allow it so.

Change the way you think of life, and life will be better, you know.


When life is getting you down, don’t sit and mope

Take action and always have hope.


When life is getting you down, take time to pray

Don’t allow yourself to frown God will help you see the blessings of the day.

Poems About Hope

12. Be Vigilant Not Late

by: Greta Zwaan


Pray in the time of sorrow; sing in the time of joy,

Give voice to the inner emotions; in trust your faith deploy.

When sickness overtakes you, when days cause endless pain,

It seems life has no meaning, commitments are quite in vain.


How can one think of singing when sorrows pile so deep?

Rejoice amidst the trials when one would rather weep?

Give thanks to God in all things; the happy times, the good,

As well in disappointments, when you’re misunderstood.


God doesn’t say, “FOR all things,” when crisis come your way,

But in the darkened valleys, there’s always room to pray.

God’s patience never falters; his ears hear your request,

Your anxious cry for mercy, when you can find no rest.


He longs to draw you closer, He seeks to draw you near,

But life keeps you so busy, His voice seems not too clear.

Then God allows a valley where you might seek His face,

A time of concentration, renewing of His grace.


God never left His posting, He did not stray away,

It’s you who did the wandering, so busy every day.

The path you’re on is fruitless; your spirit cannot grow,

So God puts up a barrier were you ought not to go.


Hence comes the heavenly message: “Be thankful in all things,”

Perhaps enduring hardships the bell of danger rings.

Pay heed, the call is vital; God’s calling carries weight,

Accept the challenge quickly, be vigilant, not late.


13. Help My Soul To Rise

by: Greta Zwaan


In the wilderness of depression my heart has sunk so low,

I long for a solution but I don’t know where to go.

I have this guilty complex, as if the fault were mine,

As if somehow I’d ventured through a “no admittance” sign.


I feel I ought not be here, I’ve better things to do,

Yet I can’t seem to focus, I’m simply muddling through.

My tears are always present, appearing just at will,

I feel nobody loves me, my world is oh, so still.


In crowds I feel an outcast, as if I don’t belong,

I cannot speak to strangers within a noisy throng.

My mind is all confusion, my heart is full of fear,

I can’t find any solace, what am I doing here?


With haste I rush for shelter far from this mob, this crowd,

No matter what the function, they’re all so terribly loud.

Back to my silent enclave, to loneliness and pain,

To sort out troubled feelings that surface once again.


How do I cast this burden? Find peace to fill my soul?

Where do I get my answers? How do I find control?

Can someone please direct me? Can someone give me hope?

Within this darkened valley I can no longer cope.


The world’s so dark and dreary, I may decide to leave,

I’ve tried but I can’t conquer, I just cannot achieve.

If you could feel compassion, if you would be my friend,

Perhaps I’d seek renewal, perhaps my world won’t end.


I need you to stand by me, but not to criticize,

Give me a firm foundation, please. Help my soul to rise.


14. Life Is A Twisted Road


Life is a twisted road dominated by unexpected twists and turns,

However at the end of the day, it is from them that we learn.

And in spite of being so hard to cross,

the flame of hope ensures that you’re never lost.

So keep the flame of hope always bright and strong,

For as long as hope reigns, nothing can go wrong.

Poems About Hope

15. Do Not Lose Hope


Do not lose the hope in your heart even on days when success seem far,

Even when all the doors are close, check for windows that are left ajar.

For my dear friend success is actually failure turned inside-out,

Remember this, whenever you find yourself discouraged or in doubt.


16. When The Clouds Cover The Sky


When the clouds cover the sky,

and the rain begins to pour from a height.

When it gets all dark outside,

And you just wish you could stay at home and hide.

A silver lining suddenly forms around the cloud,

And almost immediately the quite turns into loud.

The sun peeks right through and the rainbow makes its entrance,

It is the most beautiful sight, it is the perfect time for romance.

Love is suddenly back in the air,

It is smiling through heaven with pride and flare.

While the darkness is no where now,

It is taken over by light and the earth is smiling again.

For no darkness is here to stay forever,

Sooner or later light will surely arrive however.

Poems About Hope

17. Somewhere Along The Stony Way


Somewhere along the stony way,

Lies a hidden hope of yesterday.

You probably never noticed it in the past,

But they are joys forever to last.

They will show up when you least expect them to,

And they will reward you with bliss experienced

by only a fortunate few.


18. If You Hope


If you hope there won’t be fear,

If you hope, there won’t be tears,

Hope is a word that believes us to do things,

Hope is a word that propels everything,

Hope keeps us going till the end,

Hope gives us the inner strength.


19. Now That We Have Tasted Hope

by: Khaled Mattawa 


Now that we have come out of hiding,

Why would we live again in the tombs we’d made out of our souls?


And the sundered bodies that we’ve reassembled

With prayers and consolations,

What would their torn parts be, other than flesh?


Now that we have tasted hope

And dressed each other’s wounds with the legends of our


Would we not prefer to close our mouths forever shut

On the wine that swilled inside them?


Having dreamed the same dream,

Having found the water behind a thousand mirages,

Why would we hide from the sun again

Or fear the night sky after we’ve reached the ends of


Live in death again after all the life our dead have given us?


Listen to me Zow’ya, Beida, Ajdabya, Tobruk, Nalut,

Listen to me Derna, Musrata, Benghazi, Zintan,

Listen to me houses, alleys, courtyards, and streets that

throng my veins,

Someday soon, in your freed light, in the shade of your proud trees,

Your excavated heroes will return to their thrones in your

martyrs’ squares,

Lovers will hold each other’s hands.


I need not look far to imagine the nerves dying,

Rejecting the life that blood sends them.

I need not look deep into my past to seek a thousand hopeless vistas.

But now that I have tasted hope

I have fallen into the embrace of my own rugged innocence.


How long were my ancient days?

I no longer care to count.

I no longer care to measure.

How bitter was the bread of bitterness?

I no longer care to recall.


Now that we have tasted hope, this hard-earned crust,

We would sooner die than seek any other taste to life,

Any other way of being human.


20. Moon for Our Daughters

by: Annie Finch


Moon that is linking our daughters’

Choices, and still more beginnings,

Threaded alive with our shadows,


These are our bodies’ own voices,

Powers of each of our bodies,

Threading, unbroken, begetting


Flowers from each of our bodies.

These are our spiraling borders

Carrying on your beginnings,


Chaining through shadows to daughters,

Moving beyond our beginnings,

Moon of our daughters, and mothers.


21. Abeyance

by: Rebecca Foust


I made soup tonight, with cabbage, chard

and thyme picked outside our back door. 

For this moment the room is warm and light,

and I can presume you safe somewhere.

I know the night lives inside you. I know grave,

sad errors were made, dividing you, and hiding

you from you inside. I know a girl like you

was knifed last week, another set aflame.

I know I lack the words, or all the words I say

are wrong. I know I’ll call and you won’t answer,

and still I’ll call. I want to tell you 

you were loved with all I had, recklessly,

and with abandon, loved the way the cabbage

in my garden near-inverts itself, splayed

to catch each last ray of sun. And how

the feeling furling-in only makes the heart

more dense and green. Tonight it seems like

something one could bear.


Guess what, Dad and I finally figured out Pandora,

and after all those years of silence, our old music

fills the air. It fills the air, and somehow, here,

at this instant and for this instant only

perhaps three bars what I recall

equals all I feel, and I remember all the words.


22. What it Look Like

by: Terrance Hayes 


Dear Ol’ Dirty Bastard: I too like it raw,

I don’t especially care for Duke Ellington

at a birthday party. I care less and less

about the shapes of shapes because forms

change and nothing is more durable than feeling.

My uncle used the money I gave him

to buy a few vials of what looked like candy

after the party where my grandma sang

in an outfit that was obviously made

for a West African king. My motto is

Never mistake what it is for what it looks like.

My generosity, for example, is mostly a form

of vanity. A bandanna is a useful handkerchief,

but a handkerchief is a useless-ass bandanna.

This only looks like a footnote in my report

concerning the party. Trill stands for what is

truly real though it may be hidden by the houses

just over the hills between us, by the hands

on the bars between us. That picture

of my grandmother with my uncle

when he was a baby is not trill. What it is

is the feeling felt seeing garbagemen drift

along the predawn avenues, a sloppy slow rain

taking its time to the coast. Milquetoast

is not trill, nor is bouillabaisse. Bakku-shan

is Japanese for a woman who is beautiful

only when viewed from behind. Like I was saying, 

my motto is never mistake what it looks like

for what it is else you end up like that Negro

Othello. (Was Othello a Negro?) Don’t you lie

about who you are sometimes and then realize

the lie is true? You are blind to your power, Brother

Bastard, like the king who wanders his kingdom

searching for the king. And that’s okay.

No one will tell you you are the king.

No one really wants a king anyway.


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