How many of our smiles are fake?
How many of us wish our own lives to take?
How many people out there feel alone?
Or even worse feel like they are just another clone?
How many souls are crying out for another?
And how many of them will meet each other?
How many loved ones have passed away?
How many deal with depression each day?
Or another mental illness they carefully hide?
How many of you out there are broken inside?
How many humans are truly at peace?
And just when will that contentment cease?
How many of us have cut out our hearts?
And destroyed it so no one else could hurt that part?
How many of us have watched those we love the most,
Change over time into an unrecognizable ghost?
How many people have each one of us used?
How many words have we said that left others ego bruised?
How many friends have we drifted apart from?
How many of us are horrified by what we have become?
How many goodbyes cut good people open wide?
Leaving them gutted by the empty space by their side?
How many hours have been wasted by sorrow?
How many todays ruined by yesterday or tomorrow?
How many questions has mankind really asked?
How many people walking by are wearing an ornate mask?
How many of us are able to say the smile we don is real?
And mean it when we tell another how it is we feel?
The answers are only numbers with an unimportant sum,
They don't matter because the tragic fact of every last one
Is that they all show us our harsh reality;
The truth most people cannot accept or see

We'd rather make-believe our lives are as happy
As we know they will not ever be

How
It doesn't sound that obvious right away,
The fact that hands can change lives
But they can, in a special way
With words, and poetry
They create words
They create art
They Love
They are
How