"It could've been worse," said the heart.
"The bullet could've missed."
**
"It could've been worse," said the flesh bathed in scarlet.
"The knife could've been blunt."
**
"It could've been worse," said the warm, warm teardrop.
"You mightn't have had a chance to spill me."
**
"It could've been worse," said God.
"In place of you, could've been a ball of flesh and blood
Stabbed before it could breathe."
**
So rejoice, O fortunate sufferer
Spill not a single drop
Your grief pales in the shadow of your neighbour's
Why then, do you weep at all?
You possess no right to react to pain
For you are not the first
You hold over your grief not the slightest claim
For people had it worse.
YOU ARE READING
Salt And Ink
Poetry(#1 in Poetry 14th November 2015- 14th December 2015) (5th in What's Hot- Poetry, 20th January 2016) Cover picture- grunge (WeHeartIt) "Prepared thus to close, he raised his knife, Death came later; he was stabbed by life." When my ballpoint buckles...
