Eight-line Poems

On the Other Hand

On the Other Hand

The slump of the shoulders, the downcast look,
these speak without words, we don’t need a book.
spirit is broken and hope is forlorn,
dreams are all shattered and tattered and torn,
drought is just endless, the well has run dry,
ev’rything parched but the tear in the eye,
then the bright optimist shouts loud and high,
“Cheer up my lads for tomorrow we die!”


Line count: 8
Rhymed aabb, syllables ten per line
For Express It In Eight, 07.23.22
Prompt: Slump.