The Cup

The fire has died
and so my heart -
each time I deal with people
I am out of luck,
receive a dart
and wish I had not tried.

What words to say -
what worth the moral ground
high and dry -
they would not understand,
would only give me flurry

indigestion
and rob me of my peaceful day.

All this way, the miles, the
effort and I meet the same.
I had hoped for a different
life, not the strain.  I will

consider my move of the piece
on the board, but all diminishing
is outwith my control
and the wine has long soured.

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