Sophia White Poems

O! The never-ending books! End on end,
Marching like a mass of scholars
Still the stacks get taller – taller!
Down the wall, up the hall,
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Sitting in the station; waiting for the train
Shoes wet from leftover puddles
The vestiges of last night’s rain
Everyone walking past looks muddled
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The sky is low and thick with clouds of despair
And I – I wait. For what? I don’t know.
The world is wet and damp with rains of tears.
And I – I hope. For what? I don’t know.
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Too tired. Gazing up. Life gone.
The world is terribly white.
Very scared. Eyes wide. Heart numb.
My dreams are nowhere in sight.
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Leaning against the wall,
Twirling my jacket’s cord
Round my graceful fingers.
Looking tragically bored,
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I spit a line, a clever word,
You wonder at what you just heard.
I see my trip, ignore my fall.
Just don’t quote me – ever – at all.
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Her hands once held the daffodils
And gathered up the lilies
In bundles tied with a lavender string,
And she’d roam throughout the flow’rs and sing
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I stand, in the low grass so finely clipped,
And the sun fills the world around me.
But I stand alone, and the sun cannot find me
I am hid in the great overpowering shade.
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Here they are, I’ve brought them.
I’ve tied them up and bound them.
My heart breaks within me
But I consider it only joy.
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The world, it’s gold and fortune,
The hopes and dreams and years,
All the castles and fairy tales,
The stories and adventures and cheers,
...