What does one do when
he finds no more,
When his intestines
cringe sore,
Lo! No beauty
But vanity to the core?
Bitterness, bitterness,
there again bitterness
Pride and lack of
selflessness
Thou hath no control.
Only corrupt with
selfishness.
Griping and prowling
He roams around
roaring,
In search of prey,
A prey well satisfying!
To the heart and to the
soul
His life’s an empty
bowl
Packed with dry bones.
Will someone make him
whole?
Annette Shalom Rakshana
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