Most famous poems about Recovery will uplift your spirits, inspire strength, and wrap you in a warm embrace of hope. During the journey of healing and resilience, inspirational verses become your companions and ignite the spark of renewal.

Each poem is a gentle reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. Whether you’re facing a physical recovery, navigating emotional wounds, or simply seeking some soul-nourishing words, deep Recovery Poems will inspire courage, offer solace, and remind you of the incredible strength that resides within you.

Famous Poems About Recovery

Promise Yourself by Christian D. Larson

To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness, and prosperity to every person you meet.
To make all your friends feel that there is something worthwhile in them.
To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.
To think only of the best, to work only for the best and to expect only the best.
To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.
To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.
To wear a cheerful expression at all times and give a smile to every living creature you meet.
To give so much time to improving yourself that you have no time to criticize others.
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.
To think well of yourself and to proclaim this fact to the world, not in loud word, but in great deeds.
To live in the faith that the whole world is on your side, so long as you are true to the best that is in you.

Begin Again

One of the best things we can do in our lives is
Begin again

Begin to see yourself as you were when you were the happiest
Begin to remember what worked for you and what worked against you
Begin to try and re-capture the magic that is life
Begin to live a lifetime each day as you did when you were a child
Begin to forget your baggage, the problems that don’t matter anymore, the tears that cried themselves away, and the worries that are going to wash away on the shore of tomorrow’s new beginning

Tomorrow tells us it will be here every new day of our lives
If we are wise, we will turn away from the problems of the past
And give the future and ourselves a chance to become the best of friends

Sometimes all it takes is a wish in the heart to let yourself

Begin again

It Couldn’t Be Done by Edgar A. Guest

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it;”
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure,
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

The Lilies by Karenne Wood

When I learned I might have cancer,
I bought fifteen white lilies. Easter was gone:
the trumpets were wilted, plants crooked with roots
bound in pots. I dug them into the garden,
knowing they would not bloom for another year.
All summer, the stalks stood like ramshackle posts
while I waited for results. By autumn, the stalks
had flopped down. More biopsies, laser incisions,
the cancer in my tongue a sprawling mass. Outside,
the earth remained bare, rhizomes shrunken
below the frost line. Spring shoots appeared
in bright green skins, and lilies bloomed
in July, their waxed trumpets pure white,
dusting gold pollen to the ground.
This year,
tripled in number, they are popping up again. I wait,
a ceremony, for the lilies to open, for the serpentine length
of the garden to bloom in the shape of my tongue’s scar,
a white path with one end leading into brilliant air,
the other down the throat’s canyon, black
and unforgiving. I try to imagine
what could grow in such darkness. I am waiting
for the lilies to open.

Short Recovery Poems

One Day by Christine Evangelou

One day, you will heal
One day, you will be grateful for the deepest cuts of pain
One day, you will glance at yourself
And see a stronger person through your reflection
One day, you will kiss away your hurt… gently, and with grace
Until then, use it all to propel you forward
Like a white-hot pyre through your star-spangled eyes
A fire to regenerate every shadowy cell
And open your heart to every experience
Knowing that one day
You will search your heart
And understand that love is the only thing to ever hold onto

Recovery by Ammons, A R

All afternoon
the tree shadows, accelerating,
lengthened
till
sunset
shot them black into infinity:
next morning
darkness
returned from the other
infinity and the
shadows caught ground
and through the morning, slowing,
hardened into noon.

Dreams by Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Passing Time by Maya Angelou

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk

One paints the beginning
of a certain end.

The other, the end of a
sure beginning.

Revenant by Meena Alexander

This disease has come back
With frills and furbelows.

You must give your whole life to poetry
Only a few survive if that—

Poems I mean, paper crumpled
Shades of another water—

Far springs are what you long for,
Listening for the slow drip of chemicals

Through a hole in your chest.

If you were torn from me
I could not bear what the earth had to offer.

To be well again, what might that mean?
The flowering plum sprung from late snow,

Ratcheting trill in the blackberry bush
Blood streaks, pluck and throb of mercy.

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

Inspirational Recovery Poems

On Quitting by Edgar A. Guest

How much grit do you think you’ve got?
Can you quit a thing that you like a lot?
You may talk of pluck; it’s an easy word,
And where’er you go it is often heard;
But can you tell to a jot or guess
Just how much courage you now possess?

You may stand to trouble and keep your grin,
But have you tackled self-discipline?
Have you ever issued commands to you
To quit the things that you like to do,
And then, when tempted and sorely swayed,
Those rigid orders have you obeyed?

Don’t boast of your grit till you’ve tried it out,
Nor prate to men of your courage stout,
For it’s easy enough to retain a grin
In the face of a fight there’s a chance to win,
But the sort of grit that is good to own
Is the stuff you need when you’re all alone.

How much grit do you think you’ve got?
Can you turn from joys that you like a lot?
Have you ever tested yourself to know
How far with yourself your will can go?
If you want to know if you have grit,
Just pick out a joy that you like, and quit.

It’s bully sport and it’s open fight;
It will keep you busy both day and night;
For the toughest kind of a game you’ll find
Is to make your body obey your mind.
And you never will know what is meant by grit
Unless there’s something you’ve tried to quit.

A Song to David by Christopher Smart
(excerpt)

Sweet is the dew that falls betimes,
And drops upon the leafy limes;
Sweet Hermon’s fragrant air:
Sweet is the lily’s silver bell,
And sweet the wakeful tapers smell
That watch for early pray’r.

Sweet the young nurse with love intense,
Which smiles o’er sleeping innocence;
Sweet when the lost arrive:
Sweet the musician’s ardour beats,
While his vague mind’s in quest of sweets,
The choicest flow’rs to hive.

Sweeter in all the strains of love,
The language of thy turtle dove,
Pair’d to thy swelling chord;
Sweeter with ev’ry grace endu’d,
The glory of thy gratitude,
Respir’d unto the Lord.

Strong is the horse upon his speed;
Strong in pursuit the rapid glede,
Which makes at once his game:
Strong the tall ostrich on the ground;
Strong thro’ the turbulent profound
Shoots xiphias to his aim.

Strong is the lion—like a coal
His eye-ball—like a bastion’s mole
His chest against the foes:
Strong, the gier-eagle on his sail,
Strong against tide, th’ enormous whale
Emerges as he goes.

But stronger still, in earth and air,
And in the sea, the man of pray’r;
And far beneath the tide;
And in the seat to faith assign’d,
Where ask is have, where seek is find,
Where knock is open wide.

Beauteous the fleet before the gale;
Beauteous the multitudes in mail,
Rank’d arms and crested heads:
Beauteous the garden’s umbrage mild,
Walk, water, meditated wild,
And all the bloomy beds.

Beauteous the moon full on the lawn;
And beauteous, when the veil’s withdrawn,
The virgin to her spouse:
Beauteous the temple deck’d and fill’d,
When to the heav’n of heav’ns they build
Their heart-directed vows.

Beauteous, yea beauteous more than these,
The shepherd king upon his knees,
For his momentous trust;
With wish of infinite conceit,
For man, beast, mute, the small and great,
And prostrate dust to dust.

Precious the bounteous widow’s mite;
And precious, for extreme delight,
The largess from the churl:
Precious the ruby’s blushing blaze,
And alba’s blest imperial rays,
And pure cerulean pearl.

Precious the penitential tear;
And precious is the sigh sincere,
Acceptable to God:
And precious are the winning flow’rs,
In gladsome Israel’s feast of bow’rs,
Bound on the hallow’d sod.

More precious that diviner part
Of David, ev’n the Lord’s own heart,
Great, beautiful, and new:
In all things where it was intent,
In all extremes, in each event,
Proof—answ’ring true to true.

Glorious the sun in mid career;
Glorious th’ assembled fires appear;
Glorious the comet’s train:
Glorious the trumpet and alarm;
Glorious th’ almighty stretch’d-out arm;
Glorious th’ enraptur’d main:

Glorious the northern lights a-stream;
Glorious the song, when God’s the theme;
Glorious the thunder’s roar:
Glorious hosanna from the den;
Glorious the catholic amen;
Glorious the martyr’s gore:

Glorious—more glorious is the crown
Of Him that brought salvation down
By meekness, call’d thy Son;
Thou that stupendous truth believ’d,
And now the matchless deed’s achiev’d,
Determin’d, dar’d, and done.

Two Days

There are two days in every week
About which we should not worry
Two days
That should be kept free from fear and apprehension

One is yesterday with all its mistakes and cares
Is faults and blunders, its aches and pains

Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control
We cannot undo a single act we performed or erase a single word we said
Yesterday is gone forever

Then there is tomorrow
With all its possibilities, it’s adversities, its burdens, its rewards

Tomorrow’s sun will rise
Either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds
But it will rise

Until it does, we have no stake in tomorrow
For it has yet to be born

That leaves today
Anyone can fight the battle of just one day
It’s when you add the burdens of yesterday and tomorrow
That you break down

It’s not the experience of today that drives a person mad
It’s the remorse or bitterness of something that happened yesterday
And the dread of what tomorrow might bring

Therefore, it only makes sense
For peace of mind and hope
Live simply one day at a time
Live today!

The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.