When Hard Work Ceases to Pay Off


When Hard Work Ceases to Pay Off


Words, once abundant, now fail me.

Solitary, I step outdoors,

The breeze greets my cheeks bitterly.

Grieving for hope I had no right to conceive.


Nights are spent gazing inanely into the sky;

It is interspersed by shades

That spread like a giant bruise:

But it means nothing to me.


Questions foist my mind.

Were you carnally driven?

We are but collateral damage

In your bid for self-reinvention.


By day, I vest in our last moments;

Proof that you did once care.

A face, twisted by despondence,

Though, any feelings you may have grown, died;


Wilted within moments-

We shrivelled, like a plant without the sun;

Or perhaps, like snowdrops,

We desiccated when the heat became too much.


I wallow in austerity;

Repeating each daily ritual,

As if the futile suddenly means something.

It doesn’t.


Words, meaningless now, are written across a page,

Repeated over countless days,

In copious different ways,

But it always ends the same.