Who Is To Know This?

The load too heavy.
With a shifting done,
On sore shoulders.

And assistance never comes...
To the one,
Appearing to carry weight...
As a custom shown,
That becomes ignored by everyone.

The load too heavy.
With a shifting done,
On sore shoulders.
Hurts.

But who is to know this?
Or notice.
When lives lived to exist,
Become part of an atmosphere...
Accepted as seen,
With no other life known.

And assistance never comes...
To the one,
Appearing to carry weight...
As a custom shown.
But...
Who is to know this?
Or notice?
When lives lived to exist,
Become part of an atmosphere...
Accepted as seen,
With no other life known.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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