Struggle

 

 

I cannot stand.

 

I cannot stand the slow howl of a dog locked out in the rain

Cannot be in the room of a child in pain.

 

I find it hard to exist when the poor live in strife

While death moves about his daily business taking life

Lovingly as the first time father's soft palm strokes the pregnant belly of his wife.

 

I am weak of the will and lacking the means

To bring forth the fruits of long-held socialist dreams.

But I tell you this for all what it seems

To live, to trust, to stand, to fall is the muck and stuff of life. It fails but it teems.