Balance

A Poem by Trapped

I think I’ve given up on describing my poems at this point. So many poems and so little to describe.

You must take the bad,
To get the good.
No matter how large the bad is,
If the good’s value outweighs it,
Than all the suffering is worth it.
Maybe,
Just maybe,
That combination
Of good and bad
Can turn into the spitting image
Of perfection.
In a hand held,
A small smile,
A twinkling laugh,
A passionate look,
A loving gaze,
Can be the image of perfection
That every human being
Craves.
Out there,
In the vast universe,
Another part of the planet we live on,
Maybe even a foot away
Lies the one
Holding
It all.
In a single hand,
A small smile,
The best of laughs,
A passionate look,
A loving gaze,
In someone
Lies
Everything.
I myself constantly wonder,
“Am I the image of perfection my love was looking for?”
Or was I just on time?
She didn’t pick me,
I picked her.
Does that mean
I am
Unworthy?
A filthy rat,
Picked up off the side of the road,
Discarded and left
To die?
Was she so empathetic
Of my pitiful state
That she took me in
And saved me?
Am I nothing to her?
A meaningless speck
In the endless void
Of space?
Who am I to say
I provide any meaning
To anyone?
If I were to disappear,
Who would look for me?
If I were to hurt myself,
Who would treat my wounds?
If I were to die,
Who would mourn me?
Would anyone care?
Or would I just be another body
Another thousands of dollars
Spent
On a filthy rat
Picked up off the side of the road,
Discarded and left
To die.