Monday, May 8, 2017

my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell by Gwendolyn Brooks


my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell
 
I hold my honey and I store my bread 
In little jars and cabinets of my will. 
I label clearly, and each latch and lid 
I bid, Be firm till I return from hell. 
I am very hungry. I am incomplete. 
And none can tell when I may dine again. 
No man can give me any word but Wait, 
The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in; 
Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt 
Drag out to their last dregs and I resume 
On such legs as are left me, in such heart 
As I can manage, remember to go home, 
My taste will not have turned insensitive 
To honey and bread old purity could love.
  
 

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