Hope Forgot to Water the Flowers

Summary

The poem reflects on the death of flowers as a metaphor for hope withering away in a harsh, neglectful world.

Abstract

"Hope Forgot to Water the Flowers" is a poignant poem that uses the death of flowers to explore themes of despair, neglect, and the elusive nature of hope. The author depicts the flowers' demise as a sacrifice, their final moments akin to a litany. The narrative then shifts to a broader commentary on hope personified, struggling with its own failures and unfulfilled dreams. It portrays hope as an entity that, despite its intentions, often succumbs to the darkness of reality, much like the flowers that perished from a lack of care. The poem suggests that hope alone is insufficient; it requires action and support, likened to water for the flowers, to truly thrive.

Opinions

The author conveys a sense of abandonment and despair, emphasizing the futility of hope without corresponding action.
Hope is depicted as suffering and struggling, yet it is also portrayed as resilient, enduring despite the harshness of life.
The poem criticizes the notion of passive hope, equating it to laziness and inaction.
There is a sense of regret and sorrow for the loss of potential, both in the flowers and in the human experience.
The author implies that hope needs nurturing, much like flowers need water, to avoid succumbing to darkness.
The poem suggests that the true essence of hope lies in the collective capacity for change and the personal responsibility to act.

A poem to the flowers that recently passed. I’m sorry.

The flowers died, screaming litanies of peonies epitaphs upon the table as if they sacrificed themselves to the sun god.

I wonder what their final words were before they went curled over like poisoned children hungry and alone in the wastelands of a waterless summer?

Hope never forgets what it wishes to change even when it’s hunch over a trashcan vomiting its dreams into week-old Chinese food where the drunken stupor left him shivering under moonlight streetlamps. Thinking about tv dinners and dusty pictures on a wall, two happy kids and a wife leaving across the country, living without his burdens locked away in that old closet called his heart.

There was a rat clawing at the walls through the night But the angels were high And god was snorting death Again, rolling bone die As he gave away his daughter to the church and called it mercy Hoping she would have a better life in the dark future yet written.

And through it all I walked the hallways without a lighter passing through the ghosts I made it through lonely nights pushing friends and lovers away with closed doors listening to the voices of childhood tell me I was no good. That I was a man who deserved nothing more then those flowers hunched over screaming for a drink screaming for light in a place where there was only a dark blight in the end of time

only then did I realize, hope was not the answer — it never was. It was just laziness without the act profound mental masturbation without the finish. Hope, like these flowers needed light, not from some azure sky or receding liquid down Mountaintops glaciers but the water that sat waiting to spring up in

us all.

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