Standing Sure
©2025 Susan Noyes Anderson
image by Terry Tan de Hao on Unsplash
My roots are planted,
but they’re running fallow,
too shallow for the work
I need to do.
Nobody gets a kick out of writing hardship poems, for obvious reasons. We write what we know, and most of us are just as happy keeping hardship a stranger. That said, we all go through times of trial, and writing or reading cathartic hardship poems can lift our spirits considerably. Sometimes, we need to wallow in our misery a bit. Other times, we need to vent about it. Much of the time, though, we are simply looking for a ray or two of hope. In this section, Hardship Poems, you can be sure to find plenty of all three. I hope you also find some relief, as I did in writing them.
FINDING THE POEM YOU WANT: As you scroll through this section, simply read each snippet sample (usually the first four lines) to get a feel for the poem. When you find something you like, click “CONTINUE READING” to view the entire poem.
(My work may be used free for non-commercial purposes only. Please request permission by email and include full copyright information, legibly printed, on every copy made. For internet use, a link back to the poem on this website is required.)
My roots are planted,
but they’re running fallow,
too shallow for the work
I need to do.
Life hurts. Love heals.
God allows us all the feels.
Hardship rains down on our hearts –
clouds our vision, stops our starts.
Even the peaceful soul must know distress.
Knowledge was never gleaned from nothingness.
Duress is key, yet joy brings lessons too.
Bitter and sweet (combined) divine what’s true.
Hope was not meant
to lock in the result
that we hope for.
Hope is simply a force
to ease burdens and
light our way through.
Brokenness heals –
cracks wide our throbbing doors –
lets go, lets God,
lets out the flood that pours
from swollen skies.
It’s up to me to live my days
in sunlit hues or shady haze.
Though circumstance vies for control,
I chart the weather in my soul.
woke up this morning
clothed in gray
world dressed down
to shade my way
The years sit heavy on my back,
this face well-mapped by trails of pain.
These eyes, two tunneled railroad tracks,
are loath to bear the coming train.