Under mine

Without the sympathy of others, I am nothing
Their comfortings verify my condition verifies my existence
Fathersonholyghost of the wallowing
Solutions offered are doors before mock-amputee beggars
To stand and grasp the handle is to debunk myths of my own manufacture
…is to demonstrate a modicum of self-reliance
…is to remove my need for prosthetic condolence offered only to the lowest
by a society largely indifferent to those hovering inches above oblivion’s plimsoll line
Dichotomous world, forgetting the average man while placating his mediocrity
Condemning him to the quagmire alongside a million and more like him
Each right hand holds aloft a lighter in reverence to they who soar above
Each left hand, a lone candle in remembrance of they who have sunk, gone
Distracted minds
Full hands
Treading water
Scanning horizon for the sails of sympathy

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