The wheels on the wagon don’t work like they used to,
they’ve stopped turning around the axel.
Rust has collected between the hinges
of about the same shade his hair used to be
long ago
when the war began
and bombs fell from grey skies
as dust settled amongst the cries of the wounded.
Newspapers sang of the death toll
as she waited to see his name
buried among the obituaries
or for the day
she would stop receiving tattered letters
scrawled in cheap ink in his damaged handwriting.
They’re saying the war was unjustified,
she felt so too.
And she waited for him to come home,
and he did
one day, long ago
when all hope dissipated
from her azure eyes.
And she waits for him again now
at the side of the hospital bed
but the wheels on the wagon don’t work like they used to.
This was such a heartfelt poem put together with simplicity & beauty. I love how it ends.
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Thank you so much. I wanted it to be melancholy at the end; I’m glad you enjoyed it.
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Ah, well then it was brilliantly executed. Kudos to you!
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That’s very sweet of you! Thank you!
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Samatha, you have me hooked on your writing. I may have said it before, but you write in a style that appears so deceptively simple, but my god…it is woven with such complex perfection. Utterly amazing!
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Thank you, Wulf – that’s quite the compliment! I’m so glad you enjoyed it, friend.
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I really did.
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Loved the message and creativity.
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Thank you so much ❤️
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Oh Sam, this is amazing. As sb who has seen war’s brutality and stupidity, and who can well relate, I’m telling you, your words are disturbing and heavy.
Hats off to you, girl.
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Oh this is beautiful and melancholic at the same time! War never lead to anything good ever. Sigh!
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Thank you so much! And I totally agree – I’m all for pacifism and not so much for US imperialism 🙃
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