Life's A Bitch (Or, Is It Me?) Poem by Kay Devenish

I don’t want to go there,
I don’t want to look,
I'm too comfortable within
this warm and cozy nook.
The radio is playing
(a real old melody,)
and there are scones and tea and cake,
on my table (just for me.)
So…
I don’t want to go there,
I don’t want to look,
I’ll just read some perfect poems,
from a website or a book.
And later on, I’ll just lie down,
in my crisp and clean white sheets,
and snuggle up to take a nap...
‘cause mid afternoon… I’m beat.
(I don’t want to go there,
I don't want the stress,
I don’t want to see that place,
where everything’s a mess) .
My life is free of troubles,
the cupboards full of ‘goodies’,
my bath tubs full of bubbles,
so I’m doing what I please.
And...
I don’t want to go there,
or even contemplate,
looking at that ugly sight,
and watching things I’m sure to hate.
The winter sun is shining
and the daffodils look gold,
the hyacinths are shooting up
and the mornings now are cold.
So... I don’t want to wonder
about those yonder lands at war,
and I don’t want to think about
ANYTHING outside MY door.
I don’t want to look and see
starving children watching me,
I don’t want my T.V. set
showing sights I won’t forget.
(I don’t even want them in my dreams,
I don’t want to ever hear their screams) .
No… I don’t want to go there,
not even for a glance,
for if I had to see those sights,
I might just HAVE to take a stance.
And...
I don’t want to go there…
in that horid ugly zone,
where little boys pick coco beans
(like slaves) , each day from dawn.
And little girls are given
to old men to be their brides,
and babies have no milk to drink,
and are covered, sick… with flies.
No! ! !
I don’t want to go there,
for I know I might feel bad,
about this lovely life I live,
(the type of life they wished they had) .
So….
I’ll push away all thought of them,
and I won’t watch the news,
and I’ll turn around when ugly’s near,
so I won't have to see,
because, ...MY life is perfect,
and those sights... just bother ME.
I don't want to go there...
where women have no rights,
and they get stoned to death
if they rebel about their plights.
I don't want to go there...
where land mines pave the way,
and dirty water is a fact of every single day.
I Don't want to get upset,
and so I turn my head,
no body can blame me
it's not my business...and as I said;
I don't want to go there,
it isn't my affair,
if they bomb each other...what can I do?
I live here...not there.
The evening here is blissful,
the wattle flowers now bloom,
and I don’t want to go there,
to that other world,
of death...and gloom.
Night time here's so peaceful,
and the Southern Cross shines bright,
and I'm in my bed all-comfy,
and I'm feeling ALL is right...
and it's almost time to go to sleep
(just have to say my prayers) ,
but I sort of hear a whisper...
of a conscience from upstairs,
and I'm feeling mighty guilty
'cause I know 'HE'S' seen my day,
and I can almost hear 'HIS' words,
as I begin to pray,
I suddenly TOUCH heaven
but it's pointing me the other way,
and I know
if I don't change real soon,
one day I 'll have to say:
' I don't WANT to go there,
please God, let me in! '
but He'll send me the OTHER place,
(the one that's just for sin) ,
and...
I don't want to go there
but as sure as stars above,
if I don't change
that's where I'll be,
for ALL this....I'm guilty...of.