When the music is beautiful

I watch people struggle

wondering 'why?'

Knowing that my own struggles 

have never been too much,

-as struggles should be-

but some struggles appear to me

like a few moments spent

trying to untie a child's knot.


So, I put on Beethoven's 7th,

light a cigarette and dance

with it for a while.

She is in the other room

and I don't mind.

I must be unbareable at times,

I should know, afterall.

She is priveledged:

She can escape me,

but I am here for the long haul.


'Too negative' they say of me,

yet I only see realism

which is only ever bleak,

but I have learnt to laugh


That, to me, is optimism

as I listen to his seventh

once gain, smiling.


I shall eventually crawl

in to bed with her

and apologise for being me,

never expecting my own apology

and never needing one.


The End

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