They are there now.
Right there
beneath your footsteps,
in the rain puddles
between the cobbles.
There,
quite plain for you to see.
Crying for you, crying out to you
in the regrets and sorrows
of life that ignored you.
Those glorious childhood stories
which said you can be hero,
but you weren't.
Films which told of happy endings.
There for someone else's lifetime.
The laughter and sillyness of
birthday parties you never saw,
they never came.
Romance's leading roles
lost to you in your
missing self confidence.
Along this walk of
tired dejection arises
but a small aside.
A dream.
Of a longed for comfortable
familiarity at the end of the day.
Well yes, maybe at the end of
someone else's day.
Not yours.
You shrug,
that well practiced shrug,
and take another step
along this oil slick stained
weathered thoroughfare.
A distant streetlight casts
a sheen of it's miserable reflection.
The fading light of hope
for someday?
-
Author:
dusk arising (
Offline) - Published: March 26th, 2021 09:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 85
- Users favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses, Poetic Dan.
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Comments4
A poignant array of seeming failures listed in this set of impressive metaphors Dusk - - - some of the scene I can relate to re. those childhood stories - may the light of hope in the last line shine on despite any regrets. An insightful write.
You seldom get gut-punched this hard by mere words... I don't know whether to praise you for the poignant walk down dreary lane, or to curse you for it.
Those failures may be there d a but we are still here after surviving them and ready to go into the wonder that is ahead of us.
Andy
At this late stage in our life, all one can do is to take solace in living those dreams of being a hero and playing all those roles.
Your poetic words have jarred to surface the preponderance of those happy endings
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