Morbid, Who Me?

There is a question

I have been asked

now so many times;

I’m always asked

why do I have to

write depressing rhymes?

These people say

that I should write

of pleasant happy things,

Describing pretty

flowers and

the way the songbird sings.

They ask me why

I cannot write

of love and peace and joy,

Portraying laughing

children playing

with a favourite toy.

They say that I

should tell of all

the beauty of this land,

I try to give

my answer but

they do not understand.

The reason is

so clear to me,

why can’t they realise?

I cannot write

these things for then

I would be telling lies.

The sad fact is

this world is full

of hatred, war and pain,

A world in which

the children are

locked up and go insane.

They dug up all

the flowers, shot

the birds out of the sky,

I cannot write

of beauty as

I watch that beauty die.