A year
of futility
I am anchored down
by the inertia
of inadequacy –
there is always someone
better

I feel death
take a piece of me,
month by month,
reducing my hills
into incarcerating chasms

Your hope can save me
your seraphic wings
can enthuse the luckless wind
but I would not listen
to your celestial white lies
anymore

I remain here, unmoved
decaying and receding
growing the potent hope
planted inside me
like a bomb to fulminate
in your complacence

Norman Santos

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/futility-33/