Being Myself

Too many duties, far too many commitments

And a mad desire to fulfil them all

An unwillingness to disappoint anyone

Other than the self

As one rushes frenzied between tasks and people

Trying not to let the thought of self questioning

And the desire for a personal space

Drown out the attempt to see others happy

Moments of snatched joy

Emanating from the knowledge of a task well attempted

And, even if fleeting, moments to cherish

Infused with acknowledgements drawn or surmised

Fighting wildly against their momentary presence

And a lack of fulfilment made obvious

Seen for what it seeks to represent

Expectations and hopes that dwarf life

And the person struggling to fulfil them

For Those Who Have Grown To Love Wendy Cope, And For Others Who Might Feel Inspired To Do So In fact for the Wendy Cope in Each One of Us.......

People can no longer feel
Poetry can no longer heal

Wendy Cope
You have no hope

People have lost their sense of humour
All they thirst for is rumour

Wendy Cope
You have no hope

The love for words has gone
People no longer read till morn

Wendy Cope
You have no hope

Today's poems ring with forced rhyme
Or then draw crowds by wallowing in grime

Wendy Cope
You have no hope

Maybe you realised this pain
Felt your expressions were all in vain
Yet for those who feel, please do write
And shake them to the core, with your might
The little that this might do
Will no doubt be their tribute to you

So, don't lose hope
Dear Wendy Cope