Edmund V. Strolis

My Weary Friend - Poem by Edmund V. Strolis

The rap at the door brought a friend's visit.
Darkening my doorway with his burdened life.
The weight evident in the sigh and shuffle.
Physically hobbled by his stale old troubles.

I listened to the latest litany of grief.
Central to the theme, his latest love- lost.
He is forever lured in by the sirens of lust.
My moth-like friend burned once again.

I mused in silence at my sad sacked companion.
I am an ear and a beer, not a well of advise.
Jesus himself can not reason with the forlorn.
They must soar, crash and burn all alone.

I knew the mushy apple central to his eye.
She was nice enough if measured from a distance.
How cheaply we sell ourselves to be recognized.
The child-like man with wounds self inflicted.

Is it not enough that the reaper awaits you?
Is it not sufficient that sorrow lurks and lingers?
Is it madness to weep on the threshold of eternity?
Is it necessary to light and curse the same flame?

Yes a friend lends an ear and a bottle of beer.
Nods in sympathetic union at the storytellers woes.
Easing keys from pockets and readying a bed.
You can tell me over coffee, so sleep my weary friend.

Topic(s) of this poem: loneliness, friend

Comments about My Weary Friend by Edmund V. Strolis

  • Pamela Sinicrope (10/22/2015 6:29:00 PM)

    Your writing shines here! I really like your philosophical stanza with all the questions. You just have such a knack for getting at the core of your characters and there's such kindness and softness in there. Keep going. I love your talented writing! Honestly, I see you writing a novel or a screenplay one day... Weaving your poems together... (Report) Reply

    Edmund Strolis (10/22/2015 7:19:00 PM)

    Thank you Pamela, what is it of the human condition that we are often the source of our own sorrow?
    I am so glad that you realize that what I write is not meant to be clever or contrived. Yes he asks the
    question as to why bring more pain into a world by self infliction when life will do so quite well without
    assistance and yet as you noted he does not burden him or preach but rather lends a sympathetic ear
    for he knows that we are not equal in how we handle the trials of this life.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, October 22, 2015

Poem Edited: Tuesday, November 10, 2015

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