Lawrence S. Pertillar Poems

I have this theory about raising children.
To play with them is fine.
As long as time is given,
In the providing to them meetings with discipline.
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You could be the next to collect...
RESPECT.
You could be the next on the list...
To get it and quick.
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For all of those things,
Going neglected...
That can be easily corrected,
IF that task was accepted...
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The only thing one may be observed doing,
May not be the only thing one can do.

That which is seen to prejudge,
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So accustomed to opposing,
That which is formally addressed...
And yet,
Nothing from those who do this is proposed...
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When thirsty,
Why would one stand in line...
Behind others at an empty well whining?
While listening to those wishing,
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Why would someone do a thing on purpose,
To then declare the act as a mistake?
And then expect to be forgiven,
Accompanied with empathy, comprehension...
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Ridding a stench away,
Others may lay...
Is likened to the eliminating the smell,
Of an accidental step in cow manure...
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What point would I'd be making,
If my potential was exposed...
With a producing of abilities.
To who's benefit will this assist?
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There is nothing like being shown,
Something wished that could be felt...
From another with an equally shared desire.
But it isn't.
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