Who am I to turn to?
I felt, not saw, you- standing next to me.
You did not lift me as I fell,
Did not offer the comfort of a hand in troubled sea.
You stood there; silent – still.
Should I ask for you to lift this leaden load
You’d stand, implacable. With love
You’d show me tired, scarred hands of old,
As if to say, “Haven’t I done enough?”
But you would not lift me up,
Nodding, knowingly you’d look at me and fill-
With spirit from an overflowing cup-
My heart, till from my lips it would begin to spill.
And, shouting with the courage of ten thousand men,
Like a drunken fool under the night’s cold sun,
I‘d stand with forgotten strength and then,
Leaving my silent, oft forgotten friend, walk on!