Finger tips sticky with sugar and jam
Black out our eyes change the sheets
Hope that tomorrow we will wake up
The spent cans are like fired bullets
All put out with the trash
We lie very still
Watch the minutes turn into hours
Hours into days
We are unreachable
Lost in this wasteland
Cold hands around chipped cups
We drink sweet tea and hope for lightness to come
How very sad she moans
Wishing to be more
I pull the covers over my head
I am hollow
Hoping that tomorrow I will wake up.
A day full of sugar and jam has to be seized with two hands indeed!
ReplyDeleteLying very still and seizing the day with both hands seem antithetical to each other, but maybe they aren't. Maybe there's a way they can enjoy an uneasy coexistence.
ReplyDeleteThe cans that are like fired bullets is an apt simile. I resonate with the wanting to be more. I hear the loneliness. I can feel the cold hands around the cup. Sending you strength, my friend, from across the pond.
ReplyDeleteI hope we all awaken to knowing that though we wish we were more, we're really enough. It's a lesson I must learn. Meantime, I'll embrace the cup. Take care.
ReplyDeleteSometimes hope for tomorrow carries us through the day. And yes, finger tips sticky with sugar and jam seem ideal.
ReplyDeleteThis poem conjured up an image of two people walking through life stoned.
ReplyDeleteWe spend too much time hoping for tomorrow while today passes into yesterday.
ReplyDeleteI don't think we ever stop wishing to be more. The wishing often preventing us from doing so rather than doing something about it, getting up out of bed and seizing the day. Now if only I could stir myself I could too! How easily it was to picture the scene you created Jae.
ReplyDeleteIn this day, the hope for tomorrow. Yes. In each word, each new born, each war ... what if we could just delight in now?
ReplyDeleteThe days can indeed seem very long. Keep hoping for tomorrow, though!
ReplyDeleteThere is so much innocence in the lines:
ReplyDelete'We seize the day with two hands
Finger tips sticky with sugar and jam'
that the stark contrast of
'The spent cans are like fired bullets
All put out with the trash'
comes as a surprise, followed by the bleak imagery of:
'Lost in this wasteland
Cold hands around chipped cups
We drink sweet tea and hope for lightness to come'.
The poem adds on a bleak but hopeful note.
Minus the first line - it reads as if the day was NOT seized... ?
ReplyDelete