Sorrowfully, today I cried.
Am I less the man because I feel;

the jester in the eyes of men,

Bells do not round my head;
the music to which I dance is mine.

Does pretension insulate me, make
me stronger, the better man.

I do not know why I cried,
but tears poured from me.

Whether I cry because of worry, or worry
because I cry, the results are the same. 

Darkness shrouds me. 

I taste sadness from many sources;
it gorges me, yet why then
am I empty, ever empty.

A young man I am not.
Youth has since perished;
sap courses slowly, and dries
before wetting the bark.

Sadly, this day is characteristic.
What else could a day be?
Tomorrow, things would be better;
tomorrow, would I smile.

Copyright 2013-2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

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