Frustration

From bed rising, you sit staring into,
Willing answers, from your ring stained coffee mug.

Winter granite eyes, lifeless drooping mouth,
Shoulders fallen in defeat, and that hand;
Shaking, always shaking.  Catching the
Attention of everyone except you.

Finally, a drama loaded question:
Hope?
Is there any for us?
I think you already know.
Or why would you ask?

Should I decide for you, us?
Dictate our path??
Am I honest,
or kind,
Or both?

Your questions cannot be answered
In terms of black and white.
Our feelings aren't categorized
By wrong or right.
How about.....maybe?

Some flexibility would be such a relief.