Sitting here alone, astride the powers and struggle,
I try to uphold my mirth, but it’s chastened with trouble,
Though it isn’t plain to me I beckon to the huddle,
Confounded my dream is broken, my mind all a muddle.
As I seek an escape from this poignant lament,
My heart in as much, not a bit content,
And I simply ask of you, “When the relent?”
To wit you’re inclined to answer, “I am not yet spent!”
In my harassed wonderment the waters ebb and flow,
How on earth they do this however shall I know?
Bewildered and vanquished besides the strength to stow,
The harmony and justice, wherever did they go?
Times like this, how they seem, hard to comprehend,
Just as well I consider and resolve—difficult to contend,
Besides the shattered dreams today, impossible to pretend,
Thoughts by wildfire numbness; how to start the mend?
All to think to solve it I consider a time to weep,
The thing amazing about it profoundly void of a peep,
My drive and toil and want, at present they’re neap,
Beyond the spoil of bliss into hardship, blessed my soul you keep.
What do I pray for, a wonder stroke perhaps?
Something but to pull me up, by the bootstraps,
Calamity masterminded beyond mistaken mishaps,
At last it is apparent, I’ve fallen for the traps.
But these traps of mine are certainly not me!
I consider them not a home, let alone a tree,
To jettison this state of mine a lonely little fee,
A will to reconcile and a time for me to agree.
Everybody struggles and everybody hurts. Even the people with painted-on smiles struggle—perhaps the most; though they’ll often not admit it. To struggle is okay. It’s no vast nuisance to want shelter and seek it all the same.
It’s the life-condemning struggles that last and last that are our biggest concern. We need an escape, a way of purging the grief lurking deep within. Re-introduce yourself to tears. Acquaint yourself with a friend. Chat deep and meaningful. Soothe those spiritual and emotional aches and pains.
And, of course, there’ll be struggles manufactured for a time—a time of purposeful grief like a break-up or sudden irreconcilable loss. We will all have them!
And then there’s the good ole daily struggle. Who’d be without it?
Accept the struggle. It’s far from perfect I know. Just don’t fight. Simply accept. It’s the best that will do for such a time as this.
As Dido sang, ‘You’ll see the sun again,’ sometime. Hope for it. Hold out for it.
© 2010 S. J. Wickham.