Wednesday Never Came (For September 11th Victims)

It is the fortune of people
that the shadows
of our futures do not
lie heavy
on our minds.

We go about
our lives with
no worry for the future
that lies in wait,
with its pain and sorrow.

On Tuesday, they fought
with their spouses
over breakfast,
and planned to set it right,
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday the children
didn’t do their homework,
and they thought,
‘Tomorrow, I’ll do better, ‘
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday, they quarreled
with their parents,
and thought to say, ‘Sorry, ‘
to them later,
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday, they promised
to see Grandmother,
who had been alone, neglected
for so long,
but Wednesday never came.

On Tuesday they forgot
to kiss their spouses
because they were busy
earning a dollar,
and Wednesday never came.

So, beware of the
shadows of the future.
Prepare each day as though
it is our Tuesday., for
Wednesday may never come.

(This was written in grief for all the
victims of the 9/11 bombing of the
World Trade Building, New York,
the ones who never had a chance
to have a Wednesday.)

Don’t ever forget to appreciate your life and never take it for granted that you will live to see tomorrow. God bless you, my dear avidReaders and stay safe.

OCTAVIO PAZ “THE STREET”

It’s a long and silent street.
I walk in the dark and trip and fall
and get up and step blindly
on the mute stones and dry leaves
and someone behind me is also walking:
if I stop, he stops;
if I run, he runs. I turn around: no one.
Everything is black, there is no exit,
and I turn and turn corners
that always lead to the street
where no one waits for me, no one follows,
where I follow a man who trips
and gets up and says when he sees me: no one.

Your poem of the day.

God bless you all, my darling avidReaders

A Psalm of Life; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG
MAN
SAID TO THE PSALMIST

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

God bless and have a lovely weekend, all my darling avidReaders. 🙂