The groans, the heart thuds,
We may never really understand.
The beating heart, the panting soul,
Of a dying neighbor,
May go unnoticed to the sharpest eyes.
The hurt buried deep within layers of activities:
Smiles, laughs, jumps, shouts
Finds its way back to the surface,
Like a buried plant seeking redemption from the light of the sun.
So dear soul, what you do not understand, do not criticize.
Do not talk down the mountains your fellow man is trying desperately to surmount.
If at all, you can't do any good,
Do well to let that embattled soul fight in peace.
Cause in truth, we're all fighting,
So don't compound another man's problems.

King Davey,

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