A pale sun on a pale morning
and a wispy spring breeze brushing the thin trees.
The others would exclaim “What a perfect day!”
while I look down at my feet and rub my eyes.
I notice it as well.
Though I do not feel it.
They are the ones who live their lives boldly and vivaciously,
whose lives are one long fascinating explosion of excitement.
I, for one, however, have not experienced even a paroxysm of such liveliness.
The cowardice and despondency that characterize me have seen to that.
And although I've been so...
Never have I felt such exhaustion as I do today
I faded into this world,
unnoticed and overlooked.
The others are flowers of a bright sanguine, blooming under the rays of hope that sear ever so brilliantly onto their plump, fleshy stalks of green.
I am a withering weed.
Break my tenuous roots and let the earth consume my shriveled body.
So this is how I will do it.
O water, smother me!
Let the tide gently pull me down
to lull my hopes and dreams
and fade me out again.