The weight
He had written two short books
Wanted to show her, his work,
Not now she said, I’m watching telly.
Around the beam that keeps the heaven’s roof from falling down,
He slung a rope fastened to a scrap iron drum using
Himself as a counterweight.
He hoisted the drum up, but he was too heavy
He carried too much weight of pride.
He cried in the night struggled to get rid of unwanted feelings
The drum becomes lighter, descended until
He was lifted to the top of the beam feeling free
Of false pride and ambition.
Why did you cry so much in the night? He was asked.
He smiled, was at ease with himself, but didn’t answer.