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The Irish

A Poem

By Conor MatthewsPublished 3 months ago 1 min read
The Irish
Photo by Levi Meir Clancy on Unsplash

Is your suffering worth any more?

Do you tie threads of gold,

To your heartache?

Should I pay for the right,

To hear your woe,

And nothing for others?

We are universal in our hurt,

Yet selfless handing it out,

Foisting it upon the trapped,

Insisting we are kind hosts,

Entertaining greedy guests.

How enamored are we,

By our senses,

That we are blind,

Deaf, numb, mute;

Unfeeling through calluses of malice?

We can allow for drunks,

For vomit, drugs, and glass,

For many more to line our streets,

But not the reminders of those,

Those that came for our help.

How selfish of them!

Can't they see we are to be pitied,

For we can't save ourselves.


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About the Creator

Conor Matthews

Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews

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Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insights

  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  3. Eye opening

    Niche topic & fresh perspectives

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Comments (1)

  • Kendall Defoe 3 months ago

    A very curious piece.

Conor MatthewsWritten by Conor Matthews

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