Where is the line,
between joke and attack.
When do you get that right,
To compromise mine.
Show me who taught you,
That I'm an object of your mockery.
To you, I exist as a statistic,
Just like the blind, the religious and the poor,
We are instruments for your desolate symphony,
And you, the conductor.
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But I am not in denial, my friend,
Won't succumb to naïve self-importance.
We, the choir can supersede our capabilities,
Causing more pain than good
Just like you, the composer.
You are not one entity,
You exist in all of us.
And we must share the pain,
In order to share a smile,
Isn't that just nature?
YOU ARE READING
all the rides in the fairground
Puisihappy poems, sad poems teary poems, cheery poems dark poems, funny poems and everything in between
