Apathy


I wrestle.
And my feet are taken from out beneath me.
I'm on the ground.
How ironic!

I wrestle.
By nature, it seems like an inerrancy, an impossibility.
Can one wrestle with apathy?
One droplet of iodine reaches the entire jar.
It makes you think you have, a supposed armistice.
But you are the defeated.
And everyone that may have benefited from your touch.

I don't care if anyone ever reads this poem of mine.
Oh no, it's started again.
The recycling process.
How do you fight an enemy who is yourself?

I wrestle.
And my feet are taken from out beneath me.
I'm on the ground.
How ironic!
How ironic, indeed.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem