THE ONES WHO ARE NOT WITH US

Rain does not run to the gloomiest of times,
For I make this into rhyme,
Life was not meant to leave on a curb,
Small child abandoned in a rundown suburb,
People living lives inside,
To hide,
Escaping reality in favor of TV screens,
Terrifying screams,
Dissensions,
Contentions,
But not everything bends to your favor,
Sometimes you must do your part in labor,
As I have said before,
The rain does not run to the gloomiest of times
Therefore,
take this poem and read the rhymes,
Some things should be read between the lines,
Love does not lack,
Rain does not fall on a surface of black,
I write a poem without end,
Attempting to mend,
A world full of terrifying cases,
Crimes that never produce new traces,
I pity the ones who are lost,
Some line in their life painfully crossed,
like dust in the wind,
Most were brothers, sisters, and friends,
No wish for rain to fall upon that childless suburb,
No decision to hide from what they disturb,
Knowing the cost and price their lives have made,
As I have said before,
Rain does not run to the gloomiest of times
Therefore,
People are not all bad,
But in wrong decisions, they are mad,
Most writing in pen,
Unable to erase what they’ve done to men,
What I call hopeless rendering,
Dust turns to surrendering,
The dream of a world of children not neglected,
Bits and pieces of your true life, connected,
These simple dreams and your wanting,
Are to those people haunting,
Not everyone sees the light of the day,
Captive in guilt they pray,
Hoping in near distant futures,
Ripping open already torn sutures,
We do not know their pain,
Selfish without pity for the lame,
They shriek at one who is not gifted,
Their lives sick and livid,
Never understanding that child in the corner,
The equivalent sadness of a mourner,
They stand and look down upon those who need aid,
And seek to change lives by trade,
It is with this final rhyme,
I tell you I have no more time,
Remember,
Rain does not run to the gloomiest of times,
Therefore, read this poem just as before.