I Accept The Blame

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I was born a caring person - took care
of a few loved ones - now they are all
gone there seems no job description
left in my life

I am surprised, there is nothing I can do
to provide for mother, can’t support my
father, my twin sister refuses to listen
to my advice

My friends are all independent, my kids
are grown, I am redundant in this world
born superfluous, one of twins with two
elder brothers

Never had a goal in life, forced my help
on others who found my presence more
irksome than helpful; it finally transpired
that everyone

Forced to suffer my help became self-
sufficient; I managed to talk, write and
sing myself out of their lives - it is time
to go, I cannot stay

Concentrating on anonymous words while
playing meaningless games to earn money
I never use myself, safeguarding it for the
spectre of ‘Old Age’

My idea of fun is reading and writing poems
and philosophy, I do not know anyone on
earth who shares my interest, I tried to
correspond with people

Who liked poems - but my ideas were so very
strange, they have all gone - the fault all mine
I accept the blame for everything that ever
went wrong

No-one needs me as I am; I have to serve by
doing a useless job, paid to read words I
do not understand, the money goes to
whoever uses it

In the world’s best interest - I cannot
continue this way, there is nowhere
to go and on-one who cares and
nothing to say

I was born a caring person, on my
gravestone it should say: ‘I went
nowhere, saw nobody and did
nothing’ - although

I went into the life of Charlotte Brontë,
the books of Jane Austen - also into
Pygmalion; I loved my father
so much…


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[My father introduced me to ‘My Fair Lady’
kept the music and score in his cupboard,
he bought Langenhoven’s ‘Assembled
Works’ - but my mother introduced me
to them, pointing out the parts I should
read - my father bought Mantovani’s
rendition of Mozart’s sonata in C, my
mother bought Jane Austen and
‘Die Lustige Witwe’ by Franz
Léhar…]
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