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A Defeat



To speak of the enemy already contains a defeat,
but who can resist it?

Steadily, stealthily, we are buried
in an excess of insufficiency.

How everyone bleeds
and doesn't know it.

How everyone cries
and doesn't know why.

All praise the dullards, the cowards,
the dishonest and the confused,

for they have made this world.
The hardest word to say is surrender.

I stopped to watch and missed my departure:
well, where did I have to go, anyway?

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.