Too ready to meet the fight
Too assured and well fed
Of my needs I have one to meet
To release my greed and fear
Pity that still in comfort I tread
I sit
Lamenting my loss
Waiting for the tension to spread
And the door once more opened
The voices again speak inside my head
Light given
Hope to the dread
We that are in comfort fail in it. Those that are without it strive for it. There is no happy medium.
ReplyDeleteI like this poem. Don't throw this one away.