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.

by Gwendolyn Brooks

Comments (7)

Can u guys give me an rhyme example
Nice one.It is the need of everyone when one returns home tired. Thanks for posting. congrats.
a poem of hopeful return to the things of a basic life once led? ..............well written.
old purity could love. Thanks for sharing it here.
My honey! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
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