Evening’s Surrender

Weakness is a crime.

Such is the cruel edict of life.

I love you.

– – –

A hideous angst of hate.

Of spoken lies.

The body fights & you sit there; say be strong – 1st World Antics.

My mind tightens & cries for it cannot escape.

Heavy waves attack & the ocean swamps & drowns & evening’s surrender calls.

That’s what you miss.

Laughing at this.

At me.

I AM weak – Secret truth revealed.

I long – ‘Weak’ sign written.

I cannot care for what resides within, for what resides within is shattered.

Worn out & broke.

An empty shell.

But this is weakness, that’s what you say. So i reserve no human sympathy.

These walls around me mask the light & for tonight all avenues are closed & the world outside is empty of helping hands.

Man cares for only oneself.

& Who cares for the weak?

& Yes, I tried to win! I tried to grab that fleeting chance! but defeat still arrived in hidden guise & sits, lolls, heavy on this chair which writes.

I breathe.  At least I try!

& though the world is dark & the lights are dim, death has yet to come.

Silence.

Silence is the final end. A quiet evening subdued in thoughtful reproach & Life continues.

The front door closes & watches it go.

Curtains drawn, candles lit.

Child capitulates & thoughts are writ.

(c) Ed Simkins

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