Michael Appelt

It is not a poem of answers, but of wounds — emptiness, hunger, illness, guilt, and mistrust — spoken in words pared down to their essence.

It names the weight many of us carry, yet ends with the simple, stubborn act of rising again, and the haunting question: Who will lift me?

The Poem of Despair

(for those who have known emptiness, hunger, illness, guilt, division — and the fragile rising that follows)

—

Some of us are hollow,

alone in a crowd,

love turned to ash.

–

Some of us are hungry,

bowls empty,

hearts unfed.

–

Some of us are ill,

breath shallow,

life slipping like sand.

–

Some of us are guilty,

greed burning like fire,

earth and humanity our sacrifice.

–

Some of us are deceived,

hearts split by suspicion,

one against another.

—

And yet,

each morning I rise,

to endure,

to walk the narrow bounds of my days.

—

Who will lift me?