November 11, 2022
There is no respite for the desperate,
No covenant for this supplicant,
One is at their mercy when one is on one’s knees.
When you are desperate you grasp at straws,
With no haven, no sense of safety at all,
More than discomfort and more than one’s unease.
You hide your anger in a tightly clenched jaw,
You hide your rage with fists clenched into balls,
But your hurt is unhidden, splayed across your face.
And though a straw cannot help you climb,
You can’t dig with a straw, no key you can find,
But a straw can remind you of a lost autumn day.
And basking in the golden ray of that sun,
When the fields were tilled and the work was done,
There was you and the hope you represented.
And even the memory of hope is enough,
To strengthen your heart and resolve to be tough,
And this, another day does not feel so tormented.