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Poetry, Real Life, Whatever, Writing


We think we’re unique,

but we are just reflections,

of ripples,

of other lives.

Our births and our deaths,

are reflections

of the lives of those

who went before.


Looking down to see our faces in the water,

we see other faces

our parent, our grandparents,

and their ancestors.

When we despair,

we forget that others did the same before us,

our cries,

echoing and shadowing,

the fears our fathers felt.


Every new day,

we wake thinking that our problems are different,

never knowing that hosts of others walk the same path as we do,

think the same thoughts as we do.


Every day,

we cry the same tears as our neighbor,

and our neighbor’s grandmother.

How can we not notice

that the sorrow in our eyes

is the same sorrow

as the man we pass on the corner?

How can we not see a picture

of a woman a million miles away

and not recognize her smile

as the same one that was on our face earlier that week?


How can we not realize that

we are part of one life,

like expressions on one face,

we are facets of one soul?


Yet somehow, we never do see it,

and even now

someone cries out that he is alone

when he stands in the company of millions.

About rozzychan

Rosalyn Hunter is the principal writer on the series Lunatics. Please support us. http://lunatics.tv


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