the pain you ease
when the needle bleeds
throughout the veins
that seem to please
the pokes upon the hopeless arm
to ease the pain increased
are the habits of the broken heart
whose search for love has ceased
don't tell me that you do not know
don't tell me that you do not stare
don't stand around self-righteous ones
there's irony here
the good are often doomed to pain
they carry the weight of many in vain
they care and love and feel the strain
of their family, their friends and the world contained
be still and careful when these you meet
be gentle and knowing of the weight beneath their feet
don't judge or speak in careless ways
they may meet the Maker any day
what will they say?
