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Contemplation of Complaint

It is with deep regret and sorrow,

Plagued by worthless woe,

That I write these words to none but myself.

Convinced that my convictions are dormant,

I lay awake at night full of contemplation.

Should I complain as always?

Or, should I consider an alternative?

My complaining seems an exercise in futility.

I seem alone in my complaint.

The others remain silent.

They have no voices.

They are not heard.

Thus, I seem to stand out.

My speaking up leads to no peace.

Victory eludes me somehow.

Thus, I reckon with my tormented soul

And I relinquish my formal complaint.

I offer my solemn submission.

I end up among the silent.

I find myself willing to abide with the voiceless.

I, too, have lost any consideration of complaint.

I submit in silence.