Things we see but never know
The spring, the flowers, about to grow
The nice things we notice but don't understand
About their opposites, and things they command
Where there is life there soon is death
Listen, and you will hear it yet
The flower here now, soon will wilt
The beauty you see, soon turned to silt
But we deny these little things
We choose to ignore the mournful rings
Of sorrow deep and sad fulfillment
Wishing they were something else, different
For everyone born, one soon after dies
Their red of blood soon paints the skies
We love the beauty that we see
We ignore the pain and suffering
The people gone, we push away
We choose to wish that we could stay
Here forever in this land
Though death shall soon take you in it's hand
We wish to live but can't forever
This life is pain, a treacherous endeavor
Yet we wish to be here in this place
Instead of ashes in a vase
Wouldn't death be so much easier?
Then this life of pain, so much breezier
You may think I'm depressed, and so may be
But you can't judge, for you don't know me
Or anything I've been through or thought
Or of the people I have lost
So let me be with my poetry dear
And let me wish that I could hear
A soul who thinks of the things we miss
Instead of pretending to live a life of bliss
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
Things we see but never know
The spring, the flowers, about to grow
The nice things we notice but don't understand
About their opposites, and things they command
Where there is life there soon is death
Listen, and you will hear it yet
The flower here now, soon will wilt
The beauty you see, soon turned to silt
But we deny these little things
We choose to ignore the mournful rings
Of sorrow deep and sad fulfillment
Wishing they were something else, different
For everyone born, one soon after dies
Their red of blood soon paints the skies
We love the beauty that we see
We ignore the pain and suffering
The people gone, we push away
We choose to wish that we could stay
Here forever in this land
Though death shall soon take you in it's hand
We wish to live but can't forever
This life is pain, a treacherous endeavor
Yet we wish to be here in this place
Instead of ashes in a vase
Wouldn't death be so much easier?
Then this life of pain, so much breezier
You may think I'm depressed, and so may be
But you can't judge, for you don't know me
Or anything I've been through or thought
Or of the people I have lost
So let me be with my poetry dear
And let me wish that I could hear
A soul who thinks of the things we miss
Instead of pretending to live a life of bliss
