“A Day in The Life”

A Day In The Life
© Gene Cartwright

Palm prawns prance in tradewind breeze.
Another day in Paradise.
Tropical creatures of the air soar and dive.
Another day in Paradise.

The gods smile and stay their thunder and rain,
to suit rich, tan bodies that rise at dawn,
to plant bare feet in shimmering white sand.
Another day in Paradise.

A boundless view of crystal blue waters.
Sleek, shiny, snow-white yachts anchored nearby,
vessels boasting captains and crews in smart attire.
Servants poised to answer every desire and whim.
French Bordeaux, world cuisine, meals for kings.

A bright, golden sun rules in an azure sky,
above this pleasure paradise—this Garden of Eden;
a Shangri-la worlds away from paupers and beggars,
natural calamities, war and such earthly hell.
Another day in Paradise.
Life seems forever.

Screaming sirens serenade sweltering nights.
Another day in the life.
Random gunfire crackles, signaling the dawn.
Another day in the life.

Well-worn, war zone pathways to school,
littered with human rejects, and their refuse:
blood-dipped needles strewn along the way.
Another day in the life.

Funeral bells toll for young lives gone too soon,
in a place where young hearts dare to dream,
but of only the next heart beat, the next breath.
Shuttered windows, barred doors, cluttered streets.,
children at play under their mothers’ watchful eyes.

Their neighborhoods? Little more than cemeteries,
home to the living, the dead, and the living dead.
Even nature afflicts the afflicted, damns the damned
in this garden of evil in the midst of pure hell.
Another day in the life

One dream realized, another still-born, if at all.
One life ascends to what seems a birthright
of power and success, while another falls
farther into the abyss.

Yet, the dispossessed must cling persistently to hope,
a hope that endures, a hope that rises like leaves
of grass through narrow cracks
in their concrete wasteland.

Though beaten down, the young must also rise
each day, determined that, despite all,
and through their striving,
the dark fate bequeathed them will not repeat…
another day.


from “Still Dreaming”
a book of poetry by Gene Cartwright