This Concession

Weariness has taken me.
   So long did I fight against it with vigor and passion,
       But no longer do I see the need to resist.

If none other shall try,
       Why shall I?

Everywhere my hopeful eye has looked,
       I have seen but an unbound potential.
   Everyone whom my hopeful eye has looked upon
           Has cast down any words of truth or confidence.

If they need not to hear it,
      Then perhaps I should let them find their own way.
   They live their lives in the places where they choose to stand,
            And they ask why they have been bound there.
        Yet, if one was to tell them the binding was their own,
     They would not accept, and would not step out.  

How many times can one such as I be scoffed at
         Before he sees his counsel is not needed?

Such a bleak world that would not stand up for itself.
            Such a gloomy goal that would not fight for its own achievement.
      For shame.

They said, “why try?”
   They said, “failure is inevitable.”

The truth in their statements only springs
      From their ability to say them,
    And their acceptance of them as truisms.

One cannot surpass his own lackluster ambition.
     And if such a one has set his beliefs on a pessimistic future,
            What can be done?

So I assent, “why try?”
        Why try to convince somebody whose
     Beliefs are set that they are wrong?

I am weary of this fight.
        I am tired of running and of battle.
    I concede my task.

Go home, young optimist,
        Your counsel is not wanted here.