Never do they seem happy or content

yet all is blissfully given them.

They do not converse with lack

nor do they chat with lonliness.

It does not kiss their moist lips

nor wrap embracing limbs around

their warm bodies late at night.

They do not share their bed

with a ghost from the futile past.

The soft flesh of their bellies

do not hunger but are filled -

overflowing is their meal.

Still they feign innocence with tears

and wage war against such blessings

knowing not what others know -

what they have had; what they have lost.