A poem hastily written

 I feel the exhaustion weighing upon me, upon us. Heavy but invisible, like the pressure of an incoming storm. 

Most walk by never noticing it, wondering at us who lie on the ground, pushed down by the pressure of life. 

Some stare and ask why we are just lying there when we could be getting work done. Others simply walk by, and step over us, willfully unseeing. 

Some stop and crouch down to offer what help they can, before they have to be on their way. A precious few sit beside us, offering kind words. 

They help to gather all us prone together. We weary ones, gather together and try to help each other.

The ones who are now standing but who are stained with the marks of the ground look with sympathy and empathy. They nudge help towards us and wait for us to take it. 

But you alone, must open your hands, grasp the helpful crutch and stand. 

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Notes: This poem demanded to be written during the last 20 minutes of my lunch hour. Why does my brain do that? I hope you enjoy.