out here it sure looks different now

people, all kinds of people

walking, looking, touching things

some smiling and some not

some have a limp and some don’t

some push their shopping carts easily

others are leaning, relying on theirs


where did we all come from

at one time we were all back at home

safe in the womb of childhood

what terrible fortune befell us

it’s not just aging, getting older

it’s life and the way it sucks at

us, takes from us, gives us ulcers


life can be wonderful

or it can be a cruel bastard


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About John White

I've written off and on my entire life. It took years for me to finally take putting words together seriously. Now it's not, nor does it ever feel, like work. Writing daily has become habitual. No day is complete without words having appeared on the page.

Posted on January 25, 2016, in Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 42 Comments.

  1. You raise a lot of great questions Johnbo, I would love to hear some answers. You are a good friend and I respect you greatly. Lovingly, however, I do believe that we have a different view regarding why life is the way it is. Lord bless!

  2. ….and shall ever be…. 😉

  3. It’s death that is cruel, it is insidious and causes us so much pain that our thoughts twist and we actually, cry out for death to give us relief! But what we really want is life without death!

  4. Ain’t this the truth?! Amen!

  5. Actually life is quite wonderful: think about the alternative…;)

  6. Life can be wonderful for a few fleeting moments. Unfortunately, I think most of the time it’s a cruel bastard. At least for me–but I’ve never been known for my optimism. 😀

  7. Pains and smiles, that’s what life is all about! Serious thought! 👌

  8. Good post. You raised several valid points. Well done.

  9. Life can be very difficult. It’s the small things, the little victories within the pain that make life beautiful.

  10. Yes…absolutely! I have first hand experience with my Dad…the sweetest gentlest man I was raised by; and who still guides me even thigh he is not here physically. Loved your poem.

  11. Life is a wonderful, cruel bastard.

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