Why are bad things spoken loudly
And good things barely whispered?
The bad things are remembered
and the good things never heard,
and it's about as far from God
as humanity will get,
and it hurts me to my soul,
it hurts too deep to cry
so people think that things are fine.
Don't they know that I'm not me
when they define in me with their words
in their fear,
out of their anger?
If only they would ask me who I am....
or look inside themselves,
real deep inside themselves....
If they would look inside themselves
to their own fear and pain,
then they would see...
because inside yourself is me
and inside myself is you
and all our souls were fashioned by
the same inclusive love...
...a love that must weep sorely
as it views our backwards lives.
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