Poetry

Why oh why do good folk die
And evil folk wither away
Fore they see the light of day?

What's the reason for passing of season
When winter kills summer and autumn does rain
What's the point of the muck and the pain
When all of it's sure to happen again?

What is the purpose of this awful world
Where pain does flourish, and suffering unfurl?

What can we do to destroy this foul place?
What can we do, not just in my mind pace
And think and ponder and suffer and moan
But still in the end, still useless and alone

I stare upon the phone
The words on the screen, like a horrible dream,
Telling me things that I don't want to know
I want to know truth, but the truth is so bare
News makes one believe that good folk are rare
And even if not, if one suffering is there
It still means that our universe isn't fair
And for some stupid reason, I felt bound to care
Rather than just escape to the air

I have to do something, but that something is what?
What can I do that will make pain not?
I can't make the universe cold if it's hot
I fear that my true goal will never be got