Reality is just a middle class dream
Depending upon the world and what you have seen
In our world wars and madness cut to the bone
The rape of hundreds each day never to atone.
But what is reality for an American middle class poet
Is it real that we can feel happiness and know it...
For most, even though we toil and strive
Compared to the world, we are gratefully alive.
For me I am lucky because what is real
Are friends, dinner out and the movies appeal
Yet, it sounds almost soul-less to live this way
Ignoring pain and worldwide strife, ignorant I stay
I can't afford a charity to balance my days
Alone and handicapped I have my own bills to pay
So I sculpt each day to feel more alive
With truth and kindness I will always strive.