'If He Wrote Poetry' by Alyssa R George
'Such pain, this life!' the pale fools sigh.
'Ah, life is sweet!' still others cry.
But life is life, no more, say I.

What makes the morning sun so 'fair'?
A disc of flame up in the air
Is no great wonder - simply there.

Why should the grave arouse such fear?
Though death may be great pain, or near,
I am not dead yet. I am here.

Each time a child is born, some see
A new, bright page for history:
Wetclothes and all, presumably.

In every kinsman's loss, some find
The loss and ruin of mankind:
Our numbers notwithstanding, mind.

So if this world fills you with joy
Or if you think it some cruel ploy
Go prattle at another, boy.