Too Few Can See They Are Not Alone Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Broken, busted
And collected in debt trouble.
They are the ones who feel the blues.
The say their troubles double.
And they don't know what to do.

Too few can see,
They are not alone.
Too many have known greed.
And this has been shown.

People in need like these,
Are on their own.
And in bitter grieving zones.
With no reprieve,
That comforts or condones.
Woes that have grown to flourish.
And prosper isolated agonies.

Broken, busted
And collected in debt trouble.
They are the ones who feel the blues.
The say their troubles double.
And they don't know what to do.

Too few can see,
They are not alone.
People in need like these,
Are now left on their own.
Pleading for a dieing process,
To be revived artificially...
If a remedy is possible.

And...
Those possibilities,
Are not to be!
None on the horizon,
To patch these wounds,
Temporarily.

More are heard,
Joining.
The droaning in moans.
And finding themselves...
Turning off emotions.
To become cold as stone.

But aroused to heat in protests.

That builds from a simmer,
To boil in a manifested mental illness...
That affects...
An increase of these disturbances.

A society falling to pieces,
In regret.
A society falling to pieces,
In hopelessness.

And a people,
No longer feeling guilty to feel free...
To unleash havoc and blatant hostilities.
With a spreading of seething unrest.
Seen.
To unsettle those,
Still clinging onto slipping comforts.
And addictions to numb.

A multplying of undeniable chaos,
Stirs miseries dispensed.
And the fading presence of any signs of self respect.
Diminishes with attempts.
In a thoughtful retrospect meant,
To appease and curtail resentments.

Heard in the distance,
Are voices ostracized.
Undeterred,
They are to share...
And speak of love.

And a people,
No longer feeling guilty to feel free...
To unleash havoc and blatant hostilities.
With a spreading of seething unrest.
Seen.
To unsettle those,
Still clinging onto slipping comforts.
And addictions to numb.