Unhappiness comes in many sizes,faces and careers.

She may be ugly, beautiful, kind, unkind,rude or polite.

She may be...

the reek on your hair

the lack of oxygen in the bus

the corrupt politicians with devil in their organs

your legs that throw you down,to the ground

the pills that move you closer and closer to the black door

this sunday morning where the world has come to the end

and you feel like dying because your blood just isn't enough...

Unhappiness can be the dust that covers those old photo albums

that show a face which once used to be smiling and happy.

The army of unable people to react is in front of your eyes.

We all have our black doors that we will open,sooner or later.

Some of us will die from pills, some others from heroin

some others from love, some others from physical disabilities

some others will die from...


this inexcusable lack of loving Sunday mornings.

Poetry by Eva
Read 1032 times
Written on 2009-07-13 at 14:09

Tags Sad  Sorrow  Life 

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Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
this flows like a stream, experiencing the landscape of life. wonderfully expressed and honestly given.

...and some of us succeed in closing the black door after looking in side.
Once again, a piquant poem showing lots of imagination.