Spout off words,
like hope, peace and love,
holding innocence down,
grovelling to strangers passing by,
about familiar ties of blood

But the root of that tree,
has withered away
gone black, like some cancer
that had its day

And all the goodness you preach,
is really slight of hand,
I know you don't feel,
you most certainly do not understand

Having it come so easy,
only to spit in ones face,
the spittle has dried,
but a scar has taken its place

Feeling lost is a state of unrest,
some inner turmoil,
being put to the test
It is no ones fault,
so give it a rest

Another gray hair,
well life isn't fair
stress free is unobtainable,
confrontation is unavoidable,
so bring it on...

mathiasthom
written 11/05/08