Thorns Poem by David Bunnell

Would my death be of great honor to you
Is my pain a conquest for you
Is suffering seen as a victory in your eyes
Do you laugh behind closed doors
Do you love
Do you believe
Do you smile
Do you cry
Do you hope
Do you think
Do you dream
Everything you attempt and say
It's killing us slowly
Not only those you plan to hate
But those you mean to love
In your quest to conquer
The ones you step on
Will turn to thorns
Do you have shoes?