I can't win this fight

In silence I sit listening to the soft patter of the rain, Watching the spiraling mist creep over the hills, And through the trees,no visions of winter lay before me, For the small flurries we had seen are now but vanished memories, Memories lost in the wind as the temperatures rise. No rest do I have for the weary, holding back my rage, Feeling as though I am trapped in a cage, Hearing the reasons, the words of why we should gather, To be as a family, but hearing more then the love, Hearing the steady beat of their demands No flexiblity do they offer, only their way, their rules. I stand against them, a single soldier, a weary soul, So tired of fighting, of trying to make them see reason, When no reason seems to exist for them, Even though I utter no lies, mutter no excuses, They hear me not at all, just demanding that I must be there, Yet the seeds of rage build within like a virsus. They have doomed me without listening, Demanding that I be in their mist, Even though I work the night before into the wee hours of morning, And return back to work before noon, they demand my present, They demand myself to be with them before my time is done, Before the sunsets, and yet I shall still be at work, Toiling away, and thus I must run from one place to another, No rest for the weary, no rest for me. I know them much too well, If I make no present, stop not at all, I shall be their battering bag, Till the end of time, and thus, I sit here, Pondering all I know, all their rules, And wondering what is it worth, will I ever know? Bowing my head in defeat, a soldier wounded, Always in pieces, so very tired, tired of battle, A battle I can't win, for I am never right, And thus, I bow my head long into the night, Knowing I can't fight their might. Written December 16th, 2001 © on Dec 15 2001 11:01 PM PST   18 • 0 • 10