Who cares, who wonders who wishes away the days,
what will be done in different ways,
How fear of loss creeps through the mind,
until the day you cannot find.
I'd never wish a life be born,
the trouble brought by meaningful scorn,
what did I do,
what Karma fell,
life can be Heaven
and also Hell.
Each day a question,
unsolved with sense,
each night is tension,
the dark is dense.
Awake, awake
each morn with light,
for my own sake,
make clear the sight.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jan 2017
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Many Questions can be asked,
as time pushed by process moves trepidly to the past,
Each tragic day sorrowful tears are shed,
media pounce on pain like flees to a warm bed.
Vultures to be fed
false empathy in fashioned jeopardy
Enough said...enough said
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2015
About this poem:
These few lines were written a few days ago while listening to the news and the way sorrow and misery is portrayed. Each station has it's own agenda and way of expressing the pain that the victims are feeling but with a cold and de-saturated position regardless of how they try to be sincere.
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