Hardships

Hardships

A Poem by emipoemi

Term one evokes the waning bliss,

Term two blows smoke on Nature’s kiss,

Term three provokes the fall to Dis.

 

As summer withers, wilts, and wanes,

About to be exiled,

For just one day we laugh and play,

At ease, enlivened, mild.

 

We then disperse through Dante’s woods,

And down our lonely roads.

(Yet may converse if e’er we meet

By any of the nodes).

 

And travelling along with us

Is something that will last

Until we reach our journeys’ end,

And makes us want out fast.

 

’Tis but a spirit, burdening,

Whose grip on us is tight,

And so shall it remain until

The sun once more shines bright.

 

Progressing further through the woods,

Where shadows eerie grow,

It sighs and constantly complains

‘Why must the year move slow?’

 

For in the years that came before

Time flew with quickened pace.

But now it plods along, as though

It’s laughing in our face.

 

Our trials come with subtle ease,

But Heaven be it not,

For each one tests our wits and wills

Without much time for thought.

 

And yet, through all we must confront,

There’s sorrow in our hearts.

We feel we cannot carry on,

And so the trouble starts.

 

Distressed and daunted we may be,

Yet we cannot delay.

We must advance and conquer all

That should obstruct our way.

 

We thus head further down the trail

Until the light is gone.

The beaming sun cannot pierce through,

No light has ever shone.

 

The darkness hovers heavily,

The ground is strewn with stones,

The air is dusty, musty, thick,

And silence softly moans.

 

Yet we must gingerly press on

To face what trials lie

In wait for us amidst the dark,

But now we must rely

 

Much more upon our wits and wills

To deem our trials won.

But we still have some ways to go

To deem our journeys done.

 

Not far into the distance lies

A bleak and daunting sight,

And though the sun shines once again,

’Tis neither warm nor bright.

 

The spirit chills its swirling squeeze,

And in a fearful state

Says: ‘Entering would be thy doom!

Go back! ’Tis not too late!’

 

No! Why go back when twelve long years

Our journeys since have made.

We’ve pushed and pulled through Dante’s woods,

And now have reached this glade.

 

No! Come what may, we merely must

Be bold and stay on track.

’Tis far too late to in the least

Consider going back.

 

Again assembled, side by side,

 Agape we gaze ahead,

 Our blood and bones infused with cold,

Our hearts and souls with dread

 

From that which looms amidst the gloom,

Impossible to miss.

’Tis broad and grim that we know well

That ’tis the mouth of Dis.

 

There’s no safe way that can be found

Around this turn of woe.

We all have none but one fair choice,

So through the gates we go.

 

And there sits Hades on his throne,

Ensuring ev’ry soul

Among all those who wish to pass

Receives their torture whole.

 

We swiftly are confined within

A stale and murky cell,

And further come to realize

That we’re indeed in Hell.

 

Our trials come so heavily,

Blood stains our face and hands.

(What had we done to justify

Our being in these lands?).

 

With much to do in little time,

We scarce can catch a breath.

Yet, heads held high, we soldier on

And not succumb to death.

 

The spirit shrieks: ‘Hie! Fly this place!

Whilst thou hast strength to run!’

Yet constantly we bear in mind:

It all would soon be done.

 

And there the final trial lies

Around the final bend.

At last it all has come to this,

And all at last would end.

 

Thus, wielding inky instruments,

 And weaving through the fray,

We scribble, squiggle, slice, and spot

The heated hours away.

 

And in a trice the time is done,

The final dot we place.

And, seeing Hades nod and smile,

Our hearts no longer race.

 

The gates of Dis are opened now!

Beyond the sun shines bright

Upon a fair and fertile land

That greets us with delight!

 

The burdens of the past dissolve,

 Regenerating bliss;

The spirit, Senioritis, fades,

And we depart from Dis.

 

We have at last surpassed it all!

Our journeys now are made!

Our passings prove that anyone

Can pass the final grade!

 

For nothing is impossible,

’Tis only hard at first.

And bad ’twill grow as time goes on,

But never reach its worst.

 

For in the end lies happiness

Should any reach a goal,

As peace and freedom then are found

To aid their chosen role.

 

And neither is this lively land

Surreal or short of glory.

Yet, though ’tis fair and prosperous,

This land is purgatory.

 

Term one evokes the waning bliss,

Term two blows smoke on Nature’s kiss,

Term three provokes the fall to Dis.


-EDP


© 2017 emipoemi



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Added on June 29, 2017
Last Updated on June 29, 2017
Tags: hardships, poem, poetry, school

Author

emipoemi
emipoemi

Toronto, Canada



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Cold Cold

A Poem by emipoemi