It Is Hard

it is hard to live in a house
whose walls argue with the windows

whose roof falls upon the floors
crushing you in between

it is hard when your heart is not at home
with your mind

it is hard when your fingers do something
different from what your hands sing

it is hard when what the mouth speaks
runs against the words of the tongue

it is hard when all you do is exist and not live
it is hard when you have long become dead

and yet the people that you meet in the street
tells you that
you are happy and that they all envy you
imagine the guilt as high as the cliff!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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