Coward

In a familiar place I sit, 

disheartened and downtrodden.

I fight the urge to admit

my failures unforgotten.

I reach forward as if to touch 

with childlike hands, too small

to grab a hold of something sturdy

to give myself a peaceful balance.

I quell this urge to express

my heavy heart compressed

feeling a sense of shame

but there is no one left to blame.

So, I choose the cowards hand

and opt to sit instead of stand.

For fear that once my thoughts expressed

will gain for me just more distress

which for now I could not bear

and there is no one around to share

my heave load but me alone,

isolated and far from home.