Sorrow is a poison
That spreads from man to man
Unknowingly corrupting those around us and ahead.
Passed down from one generation to the next
From one heart to another
Darkening the beautiful blank slates that make up the foundation of promise.
With modes of transport as subtle as repression
And as pronounced as love.
I have lived for 22 years and observed the way it spreads.
A drop of sorrow to a wicked man is as common as rain
But it is a flood for those of good intent.
It gives simple words a sting, or even those unsaid
It turns a good man doubtful
And a doubtful dangerous.
Sorrow is the sum of wounds the heart has seen touched or felt.
It is the reason for insecurity, for mockery, for unnecessary pain.
The next time someone shows you sorrow, mend it with care
And know that it likely did not start with you.