I cut myself as I clipped my nails last night, and bled pretty profusely! That served as the catalyst for this poem, which concerns my frustrations on the job-hunt.
I hope that you like this. 🙂
Today, the blood is dry. The snow still falls
Upon the empty, ardent, trash-filled streets,
Upon my wounded heart, still gushing blood.
I yearn for meaning in the morning light,
For pleasant walks with lattes in the sun.
My yearning for fulfillment gnaws at me;
I feel a void where pride and joy should be,
An emptiness that swallows each fleck of tasty chourizo,
And gulps down whole each tender sky-bright note
From post-punk or meandering blues guitar.
I do not feel the whimsy of a summer’s day;
Instead, my desires are concrete and dense.
I ache for solace from the slowly-drying blood,
For gentle touch to soothe my anxious, twitching limbs,
A lover’s kiss to wash my sullen aches away.
Although my scarlet blood still dries upon the page,
And even though my trembling hand still fights
To write the next line, to fill the space,
I hear the winter wind; the snow still falls,
Encompassing everything in penitent white.
Does darkened snowfall call me to repentance?
Is there some errant path I’ve walked these days
From which I must turn, like a slowly-moving train?
My fretful question whistles in the wind.
It doesn’t matter now; how could it matter now?
My emptiness and longing are my own.
They’ll still be there tomorrow, when I run
From bus to snow-slick steps to chapel’s warmth;
They’ll dog my soft, determined pace from Bloor
And Dufferin to Dupont, and be where I go.
I hear depression’s soft descending bass,
And sing the melody of faith and fear.
In sleep and wakefulness, I’ll hold the line,
Embracing all that darkness gives to me.
I feel the snow overwhelming the old world,
And whispering all the little birds to sleep.
The dawn will come, with its still-nascent fire,
To light my heavy soul upon its way,
To help me to refract the light of stars.