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Literature Text
She collected her dreams,
one by one in these glass jars.
She had a giant collection sitting,
always sitting on a bunch of shelves-
they were tucked away between books
and lost underneath papers, hidden away.
Sometimes she would take them out to see,
wanting a view of what she had once dreamed.
Never ever did she think or wanted to release them
for doing so would meant to shatter her precious jars
and she was ever so afraid that those shards would cut,
cut and cut and cut her, leaving her shredded into pieces.
So on rainy days, she would find them, take them to the window
and put them on display as she counted them all, one, two, three...
she would cry and cry with the rain always wishing, always dreaming
of the day that maybe she would be unafraid to release the precious jars
one by one in these glass jars.
She had a giant collection sitting,
always sitting on a bunch of shelves-
they were tucked away between books
and lost underneath papers, hidden away.
Sometimes she would take them out to see,
wanting a view of what she had once dreamed.
Never ever did she think or wanted to release them
for doing so would meant to shatter her precious jars
and she was ever so afraid that those shards would cut,
cut and cut and cut her, leaving her shredded into pieces.
So on rainy days, she would find them, take them to the window
and put them on display as she counted them all, one, two, three...
she would cry and cry with the rain always wishing, always dreaming
of the day that maybe she would be unafraid to release the precious jars
I am submitting this before it even makes it to my tumblr dashboard, simply because, it seems to amazing to me.
Originally I was pondering if instead of she I should have said "the dreamer," but it not only did it not sound as good, my mind was vehemently against it. I think I can understand why now. Often when I write poetry, I just let the words flow out from, myself, my subconsciousness.
This poem is about me, plain and simple. It is about how, I have so many dreams and hopes, but I bottle them up. They seem to impossible so I hide them away between books and papers (between daydreaming, reading, and working). I do not want to let them go, but nor do I really want to try, because it will "hurt." Thus only on rainy days (when I am sad), do I search for my dreams and reflect (the window in the poem) about them. I cry, because my dreams have been left unfulfilled and unaccomplished and when my rainy day is over, I put these very precious jars of mine away again and continue on.
Oh and did you notice that the poem is kind of like stairs/shelves? That WAS NOT intentional.
Originally I was pondering if instead of she I should have said "the dreamer," but it not only did it not sound as good, my mind was vehemently against it. I think I can understand why now. Often when I write poetry, I just let the words flow out from, myself, my subconsciousness.
This poem is about me, plain and simple. It is about how, I have so many dreams and hopes, but I bottle them up. They seem to impossible so I hide them away between books and papers (between daydreaming, reading, and working). I do not want to let them go, but nor do I really want to try, because it will "hurt." Thus only on rainy days (when I am sad), do I search for my dreams and reflect (the window in the poem) about them. I cry, because my dreams have been left unfulfilled and unaccomplished and when my rainy day is over, I put these very precious jars of mine away again and continue on.
Oh and did you notice that the poem is kind of like stairs/shelves? That WAS NOT intentional.
© 2012 - 2024 mleannegibson
Comments18
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This is a lovely poem. Sad, but lovely. I can relate.