pulling weeds in a maddening world
on his hands and knees he pulls weeds
the kind that creep into spaces
lacking light and common sense
often seen but seldom understood
neither envious nor empathetic of beauty
and constantly forced
to start a new life in the most
undesirable places
to think that it’s come to this
he mutters to himself
furiously yanking the stalks but not the roots
tossing them behind his back
knowing full well they’ll resurrect
themselves in a matter of days
a reminder of how maddening
his loneliness has become
june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
OMG – John, this is absolutely beautiful. The first stanza is as close to perfect as you can get.- stunning-really
Thank you so much for your lovely comments, Kathleen.
I have often thought about the blacker weeds in my life as I pull the green ones in my garden. You have put those vague thoughts into perfect imagery.
Thank you, Archie – I always value your comments and readership.
I love this… the frustration, the longing, the repetition. Perfectly expressed.
Thank you, Paula, I’m happy you enjoyed this piece.
Beautifully poignant, wonderful!
Thank you very much, Holly.
Exceptional write. Great imagery and phrasing.
Thank you so much, Melanie.
Especially the last line added so much depth to this poem for me.
Thank you, Björn, I always appreciate your comments.
you really show that you are a student of human nature here…this is just what the despair of loneliness feels like
thank you so much, Denise