Buckets filled with tears,
filled with effort and sweat,
blood and exhaustion,
will fill a well-used life,
like a small apartment with a leaky roof.
This apartment is dark,
dreary, and nothing more could fit.
Pain is written on the walls,
stress lines the floorboards.
Sure, you could move to a new place,
one with clean walls,
empty spaces to walk,
a TV with satellite,
but you stay in this dark hole in the wall,
because it's yours.
Through all the sweat,
the buckets filled with negativity,
the dreams turned to nightmares,
a single droplet, glistening like the sun,
appears to descend, stopping
just beyond your reach.
No matter how many buckets, tables and chairs you pile up,
it sits, staring down at you.
One day, this hope,
this unprecedented sense of achievement
falls,
landing softly on your tongue.
The taste is unlike any other,
and the pain melts away.
The blood, sweat, the tears,
all become necessary.
The dingy apartment
is well-lit, clean,
and the pursuit of this perfect droplet
becomes The ideal.
This second of sweetness
makes bitter fade to memory,
makes the darkness warm and bright,
illuminating existence.