It’s dark, day is done, but you sit there,
breathing in/breathing out and that’s when they come,
spinning you around and hauling you down,
forcing your grip to the wheel.
And like breathing, they almost never go away…
Go in, you think, she’s there.
This is another poem that the edit history indicates is over two years old. Some poems come in a flash, others take time to write themselves.
The title refers to a line from a writing that has kept me going at times when nothing else could, the Tablet of Ahmad, a Bahá’í Prayer by Bahá’u’lláh:
These favors have We bestowed upon thee as a bounty on Our part and a mercy from Our presence, that thou mayest be of those who are grateful.
Home the hunter/home from the hill is a mashup misquote from Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson. The original lines are:
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Thank you for reading Of those who are grateful. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph was taken in Putnam, CT. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem, and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is © John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.