Why

Why

Why why why

The cry of the soul

Not so much to get an answer

But to reiterate its conviction

That there ought to be one

Else nothing should be

When a big black blob

Stains the snow white

When the big brutes

Stumbles on the small helpless

When the brutal blow of the wicked

Lands on the honest innocent

When the little ones lie desolate

Ravaged by their caretakers

The soul cries why?

Perhaps the black blob

Has to be superimposed on the white

So as to condemn its blackness

Perhaps the big brutes

Have to crash the small helpless

To indict their wicked clumsiness

Perhaps the brutal blow of the wicked

Has to land on the honest innocent

So as to judge the wicked as desperately evil

Perhaps the little ones have to lie desolate

Devastated by their guardians

To reiterate the depravity of man

For what is it?

If black stains black

And the big brutes bruise each other

What is it?

If the brutal blow of the wicked

Cuts off another off another wicked man half way through his evil

What is it?

There ought to be a contrast

That evil might me condemned as evil.