Not Of A Kind Poem by Newton Ray Ukwuoma

Not of a kind

Can all laughing face be pleasure the cause?
Or is there shadow that betrays a deeper us,
That shades our bitterness with a funny face,
Like the hypocrisy of a burial place,
And the fineries of a rich man’s corpse
That glitters out and there stinks, of course
While those wailing the loss are longing his ex,
His golden casket and mighty duplex?
Why? This metaphor bears a cruel sting.
Man, if not creating, can doctor anything,
From making a mirror to faking a smile
From stitching a wound to building a stile
All barriers are lost, ‘cept those of the mind
Where the heart and the face are not of a kind