I wish for once that all, when straightly asked
if they are happy with their lot, would tell
the truth, not sugared lies by which they masked
the real-life factness of their living hell.
The pressure to appear to be a cool
and grinning replica of Buddha when
he sat beneath the tree makes one a fool
and motivates me here to wield my pen.
For people cannot judge what’s in your soul
if suffering comes your way as if by chance.
That’s how we grow and make what’s broken whole;
so don’t let shame change truth to mere romance.
If only good things happen to us here,
we’ll not learn patience, grace; nor face our fear.
© Alan Morrison, 2014