ven with all the energy that a new year brings, there are tired folk in the world, in my world, in your world. Friends and family who are battling feelings of sadness at loss or anticipation of loss, regret for things said or unsaid, work done and undone. Sometimes the mountain of those burdens can back up on a soul.I love this poem, not just for its parentheses (which I love!), but for the lilt of hope, of escape, even if it's just for a little bit.
You Are Tired (I Think)
You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away
(Only you and I, understand!)
You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and
Just tired.
So am I.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.
-e.e. cummings
If you think of it tonight, say a prayer for those who need an extra helping of comfort, who are feeling alone, and for whom a hand to hold would mean the world. Those souls are many, on any given night.
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It's ironic that so many people think the holidays are the "bluest" time of the year, when I think it's actually this part of the year (buzz of the holidays is over, and the promise Valentine's Day doesn't really console many...) At least Tom has pointed out that this year I didn't go into my regular spiral of "what now?!" starting the day after Christmas, but I feel it settling in a little bit along with the cooler weather (dropped to the mid-30's last night, which I know is still warm, but we are in the South of Florida). One day at a time, and trying to remember that spring is around the corner, (and fall just nine months away!) (Sorry for my babbling- I'm EXHAUSTED today so I'm not editing my thoughts at all...)
ReplyDeleteLove the poem...so comforting. And yes, I believe the numbers of lonely souls would astound us if we knew.
ReplyDeleteMay I never take for granted the roof over my head, the softness of my bed or the quality of the food in the fridge.
It is thrilling to find a poet who writes poems using the thoughts that have been ranging through your own head. I think he and I could have been friends.