What is insanity,
But a show of our true selves?
What is is insanity,
But a reminder of our internal hells?
What is madness,
But proof of despair?
What is madness,
But a sign we need someone to care?
What is a mad man,
But someone in pain?
What is a mad man,
But someone under strain?
We are so quick to judge.
So fast to spread lies.
Our opinions won't budge.
We won't look them in the eyes.
We don't even know them.
We don't know anything of their inner selves.
Their lives they may end.
If we don't save them from their personal hells.
YOU ARE READING
A book of poetry
PoetryThis is a bunch of poetry I either wrote or found. The ones with an asterisk (*) in the title are the ones I wrote. Any others I found. Please no stealing the ones I wrote and please don't criticize them too harshly. I did my best on them.
