At the End of the Day

At The End Of The Day This is simply my pessimistic observation of the ways of the world; A conundrum timeless, if you will. At the end of the day, do we really know, does time stand still? How can we really know what goes on behind closed doors and in secret hearts? When we believe in love, but are worlds apart? Is she a beast and he lives in a black hole? Or does he harbor a monster that rips from his tortured soul? Is she a gossip? Is he a bore? Does she stay up late? Does he sleep on the floor? At the end of the day is it a fairytale true, Bound by love, each day anew? When the lights go out is that when the ugly voices come home? Does she nag? Does she flirt? Does he yell? Does his eye too much roam? Or is there a darkness that spreads when the lights go down And they become the devils that thrive on the hapless town? Does she get high? Does he beat the babies until they cry? Do they cry themselves to sleep, despairing over their situation? Do they even care what hurdles they alone may be facing? Are they overwhelmed and lost alone? Are they looking for somewhere to call home? Maybe they both say I love you, or maybe goodbye? Maybe they share a special lullaby. Maybe they are happy? Is it quite rare these days. Maybe they pray they can mend their ways. At the end of the day, can we really know Or can we only believe what they show? Can we believe what they show us on the outside? Or should we look beyond to see that love has died. Is it buried or is still alive, locked in some twisted whirlwind of misunderstanding Love isn’t always patient and kind; sometimes it’s raw and demanding. Sometimes we look into each other’s eyes and see a deep void of hatred and despair Other times we are scrambling to find someone to hold onto, someone to care. True love isn’t always perfectly chaste and can be pure hell At the end of the day, can we ever tell? Love looks at blackness with a smile and says I’m here for good or bad It reminds us of the laughs, struggles, tears and triumphs we’ve had. At the end of the day can we really know, what goes on in those houses of loved ones far and near Do they strangle each other, or hold their loved ones dear? Do they share a meal or hateful glances? Do they forgive and forget and give many chances? Yes, just my pessimistic observation, a timeless conundrum, if you will We are myopic, stuck in our own endless drill At the end of the day, do we even know Anything beyond what they outward show? Judge not, for our view is askew For at the end of the day, we never knew.