Hope

A poem about a boy and how he deals with everything life gives him

The kick; your knock on their door, hello.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

The view; computers, gel, stomach, gender, joy.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

The birth; the first birth; the only birth.

This can never, will never, happen again.

The word; mama, papa, kitty, whatever.

This can never, will never, happen again.

The first steps; steps into a new life; you are infinite, you are Icarus.

This can never, will never, happen again.

The first boo-boo; you are not Icarus, that doesn’t deter you.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

 

Hope is the air to your soul; it fills you, consumes you, and makes you whole.

 

The first day; the best Batman backpack ever, a sweet bus to ride on, and the crabby, child-hating teacher.

This can never, will never, happen again.

The letter; the teacher and your’s disagreement on the merits of food fights, your parents laughing at her hatred of flying cheese.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

The valentine; the girl with the stocking cap, who cried, even after your impeccable explanation of why cooties hiding in valentines need to be ablaze.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

The last day; no more being followed by stocking cap girl, no more arguments over whether or not cheese should fly; most importantly, no more kindergarten!

            This can never, will never, happen again.

The news; the baby on the way; the new friend.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

 

Hope is the air to your soul; it fills you, consumes you, and makes you whole.

 

Its kick; its hello; its annoying hello.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

Its view; her view, “You are going to have a baby sister,” says the computer.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

Her birth; just another birth, not the first, certainly not the last, they name her Emma.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

Her words; her attempt to impress you, her attempt to connect with her ‘Big Bwo,’ her love of ‘Tohga Twux.”

            This can never, will never, happen again.

Her first steps; the little show-off; you tell her not to run in the road for her ball, it’s not worth it, she doesn’t listen; you yell at her to come back, she doesn’t listen.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

Her first boo-boo; her last boo-boo, the only boo-boo; screeches, screaming, sirens, “Is she okay?!” “What happened?!” “Oh my god…”

            This can never, will never, shall never, happen again.

 

Hope is the air to your soul; it fills you, consumes you, and makes you whole.

 

The first day without Emma; crying, sleeping, crying, sleeping, crying, sleeping.

            This can never, will never, shall never, happen again.

The second day without Emma; crying, sleeping, crying, sleeping, crying, sleeping.

            This can never, will never, shall never, happen again.

The funeral; your first time seeing daddy cry, your first time seeing daddy and grandpa not fighting, your last time seeing Emma.

            This can never, will never, shall never, happen again.

The return to first grade; questions, endless questions, you start to cry, they call your parents and let you go home.

            This can never, will never, shall never, happen again.

 

Hope is the air to your soul; it fills you, consumes you, and makes you whole.

 

The girl; the way your heart skips a beat when you first see her, the way everything feels okay when she’s around, the way you feel when she tells you she feels the same.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

The diploma; 13 years down, 12 to go. Three cheers for college.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

The wedding; you, your high school sweetheart, your closest friends, and a celebration of the pure bliss you two bring each other.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

Its kick; its hello, its beautiful hello.

            This can never, will never, happen again.

Her birth; she’s perfect, the best thing that ever happened to you, you name her Emma, your mom cries from joy when she sees her granddaughter.

 

Hope is the air to your soul; it fills you, consumes you, and makes you whole.

 

Reviews

[Devons]

I think the message in this poem couldn't be delivered any better or clearer than this. It emphasises the inevitably and ephemeral preciousness of incident, displaying tenderness, tragedy, and happiness in snapshots of existence - all the while indicating their temporary and unretainable nature. A sense of longing in the slogan "this can never, will never, happen again" - but at the same time implying that subsequent events will always be new, and that hope springs eternal and helps to generate this future.
I think the way in which the poem uses this 'hook-line' is the 'sinker' for weighing its message within the reader's psyche. Each time the repeated lines appear they seem to gather strength and significance; emblazoned and interspersed across the story of a life and as a metaphor for life itself.
A very powerfully effective and inventive piece of work.

[E. A. Fielder]

I thought this would be a boring over dramatic spoken word poem but I fell in love with it! I really like it! Usually repetitiveness is a horrible thing in poetry but you made it make everything tie together!

[sarcastic]

beautiful

[Daniel Gardner]

Really good write!

[Denise Deas]

Favorite. Very beautiful, made me cry as well. The imagery is wonderful as is the feeling behind the family mourning seemingly immediately after a celebration. This one is just perfect. Telling what actually makes her death so real really moves me as a reader, its a great thing to think to put in a work such as this. The dialogue really makes it hit home as well. From the first cry to the last it was pure beauty. Good job as always Rice.

[R. L. Aversa]

This poem made me cry.

[♪GetUse2MyMelodie..]

All I can say is WOW!

[la Abeja]

WOW! This is really good!
I love everything about it. The rhythm, how you so perfectly describe life's "firsts" both big and small, even the repetition of the line "This can never, will never, happen again" which reiterates just how fleeting life really is.

Beautifully done. I'm looking forward to reading more of your work. Keep it up!