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UNDERPOWERED
Underpowered.
Just lately I tend to become weak. Not in the way of strength I can still lift heavy objects. This is a mental weakness. Listening to music can send tears of weakness down my cheeks. Small children crying make me a grown man, want to cry with them, in fact perhaps be one of them.
Films can have the same effect. I know that films are made to entertain the masses so why should I want to cry at some scene that well paid actors and actresses are enacting. I ask myself time and time again why should tears roll down my cheeks. I do not know the individuals or their life stories. Why is it that some of Charles Dickens stories have the same effect. I am beginning to ask myself, am I one of those weaklings that I have despised all of my long life.
I can sit for hours at this my computer and write all kinds of stories, poems and prose. I never seem to tire and have energy for writing even if most of what I write is nonsense. So why should I be underpowered and without that life flowing force of energy that was mine up until about ten years ago.
I sit for hours wondering what it is that robs me of my strength. The sounds of music. The sad cries of children. Films made for the purposes of entertainment, even some plays from the Theatre world can have the same effect. I have to hold myself back when the urge overcomes me to go to a crying child and to pick it up and comfort it in my strong arms. I know that I would never do this. The world is not the place to pick up strange children to comfort and solace their ills fancy or real. This is not done in this world of perverts and Paedophiles. My old eyes make up for this by letting tears of sadness run down my cheeks. No I am not afraid to show my tears. They are my way to express sympathy with those that I cannot help in their times of troubles, imaginary or real.
