Gwendolyn Brooks (7 June 1917 – 3 December 2000 / Topeka, Kansas)
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 give me any word but Wait,
The puny light. I keep my 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.
Poet Other Poems
- A Bronzeville Mother Loiters in Mississi...
- A Penitent Considers Another Coming of M...
- a song in the front yard
- A Sunset of the City
- Boy Breaking Glass
- Garbageman: The Man With The Orderly Min...
- Jessie Mitchell’s Mother
- Kitchenette Building
- Mayor Harold Washington
- My Dreams, My Works, Must Wait Till Afte...
- Of De Witt Williams On His Way To Lincol...
- Of Robert Frost
- One Wants a Teller in a Time Like This
- Primer For Blacks
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.