what is it with people,
with their monstrous eyes and
murderous grins?
what is it with people,
that drag us down when we are happiest,
dance when we are at our weakest
and wipes the floor with our tears
?
what is it with people,
who never seem to remember our good deeds,
but never forget our little sins,
rubbing the salt in our wounds?
what is it with people,
tainting with blood on our victory,
shredding the dignity of our families,
and treading on the dreams of our future?
what is it with people,
their faces contorting with sincerity at the porch,
to vomit lies and hatred in the back alleys
with their "friends" who are probably doing the same?
what is with people,
and their dark hearts and minds,
their foul words and mouths,
when they too,
cry in their sleep, jealousy in their hearts, begging for happiness?
YOU ARE READING
stillness in time
Poetrya passing stranger has the same colourful complexities of life like you do. maybe they had it easy, maybe they didn't. the point is, we have felt hurt before. maybe it's healed, maybe it's just healing and maybe it's not. but can you even heal when...
