They Know
They know
Where they go
When they die.
Although
They still cry,
And hug and kiss,
And love and hate, and miss
One another so dearly.
Sorry's in the eye, teary,
Doesn't expose the truth clearly.
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But they know
It's fogged like snow,
and just as beautiful.
So they live dutiful.
And cut waste at the cuticle.
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Hands in faces--
They stop the rat races
To show their mutual respect
In awe of the unknown-- they inspect
Why the inanimate always comes to collect.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
They Know, which
was posted on Apr 1, 2009 by
Tad_Winslow.
This is a solo poem.
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