How Do You Go On?
poem about the uncertainty and panic of living in dire situations
"How do you go on when the world is on fire?"
You put one foot in front of the other...
You keep your friends and family close,
And you help one another.
/
"How do you go on when the news is dire?"
You step away from the screens,
You stay calm and stay keen.
You put one foot in front of the other...
You keep your friends and family close,
And you help one another.
/
"How do you go on when your rights are gone?"
You protest in the streets,
You speak for those who cannot speak.
You step away from the screens,
You stay calm and stay keen.
You put one foot in front of the other...
You keep your friends and family close,
And you help one another.
/
"How do you go on when the riots have begun?"
You shutter the windows and block the doors...
Or you hide under the floors.
You stay off the streets...
You be careful to whom you speak.
You destroy all the screens...
You try not to fall apart and weep.
You put one foot in front of the other...
You keep your friends and family close,
And you help one another.
/
"How do you go on when the enemy's in your home?
Hello? Can you hear me? I'm all alone.
I've been calling for hours,
And I can't reach anyone else on the phone."
/
"I'm sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
Beep. Beep beep beep.
"I'm sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
Beep. Beep beep beep.
"I'm sorry, the number you have dialed..........................."
About the Creator
CT Idlehouse
I write stories and articles. Sometimes they're good.
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1:49am
4/16/25 1:49am I want to breathe death in my larynx and feel loose change in the torn and raggedy pockets of my mother’s cardigan. The water is next to the bed. It’s not cold and never will be. So I guess what’s left is us; we will walk with crooked feet on a path carved by ancient societies. You will borrow my shoes. I will taste vengeance in my tea and convince myself it’s good for my liver. Coffee is fine too. Yes, that’s all. I will think about how I want to kiss you and, the clouds, they will rise to space, and leaves, they will glue their limbs back together. The sun has been out for weeks. This screw isn’t any looser than when I bought it. But I will wake up and I will be in the ship that splits in two and slide my sullen palms across its tundric pillow. I never took swimming lessons so whatever happens is meant to be. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I’m sorry I said that. Anyway, I want to lie nude in wildflowers with ants who build colonies and worms who can’t see. You have a problem with textures. You can’t help it. I could try to tell you things, like how I want my children to understand how little everything is and to not be afraid of the giant fingers that grab at sewing needles in their dreams. I could say it always scared me. It’s just not right. But listen, back to it: I want to indulge in passion and binge affection. Is it a sin if it helps? I will endure the things I am given and inculcate everyone around me to do the same. Do five laps around the block before you respond, whatever helps. I will tell you I want harmony to be palpable and wheels of recognition to be locked in an imperishable gear. Refill the pot if it’s empty. What I want has nothing to do with me. Diagonal tile is cold, you know, and my hair gets crunchy after too long out there. I want this lesson to end.
By Olivia Dodgea day ago in Poets
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