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