Optimist's Lament

Poetry on MS Paint #09

Jan 28, 2026

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

One day my fortune will change;
of this I am certain.
But change is not for today.
The night is long,
and the season is cold.
The sun shines on 
— another’s door.

One day my fortune will change.
I long for that day —
for the sun to warm the mossy shade,
Of the smell of rain 
That follows a spring afternoon.
I long for a morning grass
— damp with dew.

One day my fortune will change.
But, when will that change come?
Flesh aches,
muscles still are not defined.
Scabs bleed;
my ankle is wrapped;
the icepack has lost
— its chill.

One day my fortune will change.
When will be that day?
The auger bucks at my side,
bruising my hip.
There is granite in the soil
that I chop with my pick,
and return in the morning
to a hole filled with midnight
— rain.

One day my fortune will change;
of this I am certain
I long for that day
But when will that day come?
When will be that day?
How long must I wait?
— I wait.