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.
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 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