I feel like a little girl standing in the sun,
beams shining full on her face, grin cocked
towards heaven.
For the first time in my adult life, I understand
what spring feels like for budding flowers, and
I understand the purpose of my mouth and limbs.
I feel the earth beneath my feet tremble, and I still
want to walk on it. I still want to take step after step
towards a new beginning, a promised hope.
In my heart, a new chapter emerges where that lie
about how we can be anything (even the President)
is suddenly and irreversibly true. We can be.
In my mind, the challenges we face are daunting,
and they traipse upon our ideals of achievement
in a world of depression and doubt. Fear slithers on.
But since my dream has come alight, since the sun
feels warm on my face, the earth firm under my feet,
I can do no more than work and dream.
This is a wonderful poem. I loved it. I have no idea why I love it except that none of us can do more than work and dream. Work is the saving grace of the human race. The cat’s sick and puking on the rug, my best friend ( my dog ) has been killed by a car right in front of me, the stupid big old lovely bastard, my wife hates me and I don’t know why, my sister has just been diagnosed with Stage IIIB lung cancer which, I know, is a 5% chance of survivability, my job has turned to shit in my hands but I still work. I work to forget it all, like you, and progress to dreams as much as I dare.
You really wrote a sweet poem for me. My dog didn’t really get hit by a car and I don’t have a sister. But I can imagine it happening. Keep writing poetry or anything else you want to write. You have talent, and I know talent when I see it.