| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
| ||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Death >> ID #1060606 |
| |||||||||||||
|
They tell me pain is pain
then why does it hurt me more to see a dirty crying child than a homeless hungry man? They tell me life is life then why does it tear me so to see a pregnant woman's strife than the old hang on to life? They tell me death is death then why does it torment me more to see a little coffin lowered than a large one carried? They tell me beauty is beauty then why is it that those who truly are the sweetest the last to be call pretty?
© Copyright 2006 mau (UN: mumoren at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
mau has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |