The Miserable Truth

July 19, 2009
By Amelia Horst BRONZE, Penndel, Pennsylvania
Amelia Horst BRONZE, Penndel, Pennsylvania
1 article 1 photo 0 comments

Is there a soul that isn’t Withered?
To all of us, is it hell we hither?
We just point fingers of whom to blame,
Just so you won’t have to feel the shame.

When one sticks their nose up in the air,
We wish for them to wail in despair.
Are they just Confident, Or Conceited?
You want to see their face when their defeated.

Is there a soul that isn’t Withered?
To all of us, is it hell we hither?
We just point fingers of whom to blame,
Just so you won’t have to feel the shame.

One may be so blissful you wish for them dead
Perhaps a blow to the back of the head?
You want to see at least one tear shed
For their prosperity, you just want a shred.

Is there a soul that isn’t Withered?
To all of us, is it hell we hither?
We just point fingers of whom to blame,
Just so you won’t have to feel the shame.

Then comes along a Sad, little soul.
they disgust you for not being very grateful
You wish for them to endure more pain,
Just to show them their problems are plain

Is there a soul that isn’t Withered?
To all of us, is it hell we hither?
We just point fingers of whom to blame,
Just so you won’t have to feel the shame.

But then you begin Realization,
That causes a truly dreadful sensation.
You think, are you no better than them?
Maybe you ought to be in a bedlam.

Your right.

The author's comments:
At times, I can get really annoyed with people. So, I ended up writing this poem as a reminder to myself; "Am I really That much better than them?" At times I can be stuck up, spoiled, and ungrateful. But Can't we all?

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