Sad and Tired March 23, 2010
Sad and tired:
a sorrowful grimace;
an exhausted sigh.
The shadows parting:
a glimmer of sunshine.
Agh! Stop the glare!
Sad and tired:
heads pressed low,
eyes watching feet shuffle.
You must be the best.
You must perform.
But joy has been crushed.
Sad and tired.
Their hearts lie in
ruined, torn tatters,
Ripped apart by
ambition and its kin:
wicked, wicked pride.
Sad and tired.
The shadows dance and sigh.
Softly now, come the tears:
A gasp, a drawing back.
Is this the life they have?
Unanswered questions echo forth.
Sad and tired.
Their glorious existence
has been reduced to this:
A shell of a man,
a shell of a woman,
shards and tatters of humanity.
Sad and tired.
Broken and battered:
a soul silently weeping.
Yet teeth are clenched.
No tears fall.
Stubbornly, they press on.
Sad and tired.
But for how much longer?
For how much longer?
For how much longer
can the sad and tired
run from themselves?