It seems so strange that when persons leave, <br />Their memory haunts us bit by bit. <br />It seems even stranger that we realize their worth, <br />Only when the hurt finally hits. <br /> <br />It seems so strange that we don’t remember <br />The million good deeds that have been done. <br />But we do not hesitate to comment on others faults, <br />And are ever ready to mock and poke fun. <br /> <br />It seems so strange that the people we love, <br />Don’t seem to ever understand <br />And stranger still that for the people who love us, <br />We don’t ever lend a hand. <br /> <br />It seems so strange that we claim to be hurt, <br />By others all the time. <br />But we never remember the pain inflicted by us, <br />Unknowingly, time after time. <br /> <br />It seems so strange that as long as we live, <br />The bad rumors about us just don’t stop. <br />But stranger still is the fact that, <br />Only after death, we’re spoken good of. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />April 1999<br /><br />Runita R Menezes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/true-irony/
