Originally posted and written 2-19-2009
I hear this friend,
her mom is dying.
Soon
her mom is dying.
Soon
she will no longer
hold her mommy.
I watch the tv,
stories of
I watch the tv,
stories of
reaching,
grasping,
desperation
and I think...
how horrible for them.
I know
grasping,
desperation
and I think...
how horrible for them.
I know
divorce and
death and
poverty
are all around,
death and
poverty
are all around,
most times not so silent.
My husband
feeds a huddled vagabond
on his way to the train
from a warm office.
The world is starving
and in Haiti
the
My husband
feeds a huddled vagabond
on his way to the train
from a warm office.
The world is starving
and in Haiti
the
only
hope
is what is eternal
where hunger
is
is what is eternal
where hunger
is
no
more.
I see this
I hear it
I wince and
hear the stories and
watch
the tears
in my dear friends eyes.
So what right do I have to feel sorrow for myself?
What right have I
to feel unaccomplished,
incomplete with
no end in sight?
What right have I to
shed a tear
over little time for "me"
in a selfish society?
In Rwanda
there is
no thought to "me"
instead,
will I
survive
I see this
I hear it
I wince and
hear the stories and
watch
the tears
in my dear friends eyes.
So what right do I have to feel sorrow for myself?
What right have I
to feel unaccomplished,
incomplete with
no end in sight?
What right have I to
shed a tear
over little time for "me"
in a selfish society?
In Rwanda
there is
no thought to "me"
instead,
will I
survive
HIV to
raise my child?
And I sit
in my
comfy bed
at my
shiny laptop
with tears
in my eyes
ache in my throat...
wondering....
who am I that
I am
so special
special enough
to be sad
raise my child?
And I sit
in my
comfy bed
at my
shiny laptop
with tears
in my eyes
ache in my throat...
wondering....
who am I that
I am
so special
special enough
to be sad
that I am not
what I dreamed.
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