Ironic To A Degree

It's Ironic to a degree from what I can see
38,000 on EP and countless other people
seeming lost and alone in a tempest sea.
Weeping and willowing complaining
woe is me I feel alone but unwilling or too
scared to reach for a hand stretched out from me.
We all share the same plight shivering in our fright
like a lost dog we find roaming the streets tummy
growling for a piece of meat and for someone to
pet it and show some love and give it treats
Yet how quickly we run to its aid and say how can we let
this poor animal live or die of this kind of neglect.
However, shame on us all because our sickness
we bear we have learned not to care for ourselves
because our pain is not visibly seen by those who
we hoped should be there. Afterall, we were always
lending an ear for them or give a hug when we can
Who now is there for us? Many say here take a pill this will cure
all your ill for they are too busy licking their own wounds.
So, now here we are trying to make sense of it all
wondering if it's just us who have built invisible walls
to avoid the pain. Just tuck it away as we feed ourselves
junk to make ourselves sick. Some now over weight some
so skinny starved looking like a toothpick. Some turn to drugs
to numb the pain others to wine to pass the time.
The funny thing is in the end instead of getting the love
we so desparately seek we get more criticism that we are just too weak.
Yes the irony of it all that it has come to this where technology has replaced
our humanity our attitudes have become bitter. We live in fear and complain
within who really gives a damn if we live or die the world as we know it seems
to be getting worse each and everyday. People killing and hurting for reasons
only they know. As we scratch our head and say gosh we thought they seemed ok
we don't understand they were alive just yesterday now they are dead today.
Yet, for a moment as we ponder what went wrong and send our condolences
and sing a eulogy nobody knows the rooted pain or lonliness they must have suffered
Then in our shame when we felt we could have helped its too late they already decided
their fate. Yet, as the skies turn dark and the time of day comes to an end we tuck ourselves in under a blanket of silent pain cold and alone aching to hold and to be held
sometimes wishing the sun would not return. For in darkness we have become comfortable
to the grumblings. Only a few hours until we put on our mask we have come to embrace
as we wait to join the rat race.
Nephilhim Nephilhim
51-55, M
Dec 3, 2012