The Lost

"An angel's smile of gladness - She had found her boy at last" - A.B. Paterson, "Lost"

So, I've lived a good life

And now I've seen the bad

More and more I'm wondering

Just what's out there to be had?

It's a vicious cycle

That started who knows when.

It's barely given justice

By this lost writer's pen.

It starts off with the children

And moves down through the years.

Pain gives birth to pain

And tears, just to more tears.

I thank the lucky stars

That I have been so blessed,

But what about the others?

What about the rest?

I will try to do my part,

It's what I am about,

But in the end we're all dust.

Can dust sort it out?