Tomorrows
Your angry voice tells me
you are tired, tired not just
physically from the drain of
responsibilities, but from feeling
forced to continue to trod the
same burdensome path—
A path that steepens as the
years close in and you feel you
must stretch yourself beyond
the point of knowing how far.
I hear desperation in your
angry voice, and I see that
little boy who stifles his
cries to act like a man in
a world that has no room
for the dreams of a child or
for the dreams of a tired man.
It is easier to let your angry voice
speak to tell me these things.
© 2012 Connie Marcum Wong
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