Scrimped and scraped and saved,
Sunny day tomorrow, not today.
Laughed and loved and lasted,
Eat more tomorrow, today fasted.
More and more for another self,
While sat waiting, upon the shelf.
One thing, another, just one more,
Always counting, yet nothing scored.
A little here, there and everywhere,
A cut, a nick, a chip and wear.
Wounds of battle after battle raged,
Fighting and losing, each one waged.
Take step, take three, keep walking,
Follow my words, keep on talking.
Praise and promise and please,
Raise me up, bend your knees.
Broken back and cracks through skin,
Attraction lost to mortal sin.
Broken fork, bent spoon, blunted knife,
Punished to death, in another's life.
Stolen and enslaved and slaughtered,
At the behest of those once courted.
Into darkness an emptied life stare,
The once full shelf, now laid bare.
That's a beautiful and touching poem
Very interesting. For me, this speaks to the importance of living for the small every day moments. In time it will all be gone.
I have to read this through the lens of your recent loss.
A couple thoughts, none of which is likely to be helpful, but it's poetry so that's OK?
We scrimp and save for rainy days too, not only sunny ones. You've had your sunny days, mixed in drab working days.
The shelf is not bare yet.
One foot in front of the other, same as when you are trying to please someone else.
For me, it helps to set a goal, such as "how can I do this so as to change the lives of my children as little as possible?" That one made a lot of tough decisions much easier for me to make, and it all worked out after one very hard spate of years.
I wish I could do more, but you've got this. I know you do.
A fine poem, I must say, which points to the agonies of an emptied life, so to speak. We tend to realize that life is vain when we lose all the things that give it taste. Thanks for writing.
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STOPGiving life to the journey of an inanimate object, this is the kind of poems and stories I enjoy. The shelf was the place and the cutlery and various cups for drinking are the people, the end being bare was akin to death and everything passing on.