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Still Hoping for Light

by Glenn Currier

It is cold.
The leading edge of daylight
has not caught the night.
The dark wide torso
of the leviathan
detritus of fear
still hiss and haunt the vestiges
of dreams.

The rusty old Ford pickup
its ruddy sparkle now faded and flaking
showing blotches of green
balks at the bleating starter
creaks and moans
turns on tires
worn by too many trips
wonders where it will
go for its later miles.

Trapped in the caverns
of the subway
no fare for a ride
chased by a hitman
pockmarked face in a snarl.
Should I take the train on this side
or the other side?
Where are they going?
Dare I get on
without a fare?
I am lost and confused.
Still I run
pulling my aching body over walls
legs heavier by the moment.

But I do not stay in the fall
still hoping for light
and freshness
of day.

01/07/2011

Posted on 01/07/2011
Copyright © 2026 Glenn Currier

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/07/11 at 08:42 PM

Cold indeed. The imagery in this is just phenomenal, man.

Posted by Charlie Morgan on 01/07/11 at 10:16 PM

...so aptly confusing, as is life's tomorrows. i'm the old ford truck, i too wonder the same thing. still hope for the same things.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 01/11/11 at 02:23 PM

Sounds similar to some nightmares I have! Could be analogous to life. But thank God that can be overcome with our Hope in Christ Jesus, Savior and Lord. "Life is worth the living just because He (Christ)lives."(from gospel song).

Posted by Dave Fitzgerald on 01/11/11 at 03:39 PM

Stark images. Like watching a silent film. Really great.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/11/11 at 07:10 PM

of all the qualities that this poem has going for it, it is the wonderful quality that is at once elusive and all so familiar that is most intriguing and grasped cannot but heighten the mysteries and the allures of the heart to discover the daylight either tripped or eloped with the spoon, who are at present on their honeymoon and will not return soon, neither the daylight to fizzing like sparkling water in our eyes or the spoon returned to the honey jar. alas, both are far removed from home, in the meantime, our fare will be dusk and tart. did I mention this poem has heart? lots.

Posted by Joan Serratelli on 01/11/11 at 09:14 PM

This is just so good.Great story= very vivid= wonderful write

Posted by Ann Mills on 02/08/11 at 02:51 AM

I so enjoy reading your words and hearing the gears in my head creak to life to understand when my heart feels the weight of them.

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