Tired

By:

Barry

Coidan

I wrote this in March this year when I think, like many, a sense of weariness, even despair, was creeping in. The roll out of the vaccination created the hope that things were on the turn. There was the Spring to look forward to and summer - greater freedoms and meeting up with friends; not on a screen but in the flesh grasping their hands. In a way the poem conveys the disappointment with the political response to the pandemic and how I felt about that response. But in the end life and hope must defeat fear and cynicism.

I have grown tired of dullness,
of pessimism masquerading as experience,
of drawn-out winter nights.

All that is bright will be my new endeavour.

With skimmed eyes to look afresh
at what I, tutored in boredom,
fatalism and cynicism, ignored.

I will become childlike.

The streets I walked down in
a monochrome haze, will sparkle

with the freshness of a new water colour wash.

The morning sun, I used to
sleep through, will be my early
morning call.

I will greet postmen and road sweepers with a smile.

My hands once plunged
deep into my coat pockets
will, in future, warmly grasp my neighbours’.

I will cancel my subscription to world weary publications.

From today foreswearing all despondency
I will tear off my dull clothes of uniformity

And wear glad rags of optimism and innocence.

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Tired

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