Manufractured Despair

Manufractured Despair!

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Somewhere there is a machine,

that is operating non-stop

pumping out sheer despair

less any pairing at all

run by a somewhat lesser god,

turning out all the 

misfits of society,

to fill the quotas 

at bar's last calls,

to add to the wallflowers

standing around looking forlorn

at a dance's final song,

and bloating the membership lists 

at lonely hearts clubs.

Not all things created are equal,

society has set limits 

to what is acceptable

and what is not leaving entire 

segments of populations

unseen, unheard, 

unmourned, unloved

Allen and Eleanor Rigby's

Nuns who got married to God

because no one else would have them

priest who chose a collar 

to hide their homliness

bums who live in cardboard cells

attractive to no one

the obese who were only blessed 

with fatted calves but never a kiss

old maids who never cleaned up 

well enough to woo a man

bachelors buttoned up and closeted 

in a very lonely world

disfigured soldiers who were never 

given the love of others 

for the freedoms they fought for

each left shunned for 

their cruel sacrifices.

acne scarred teens who are mocked

and left saddend by those 

with cute dimples, who never got pimples

Plain John's and Janes who go slowly

insane when their mirrors mock them

the handicapped both physically 

and mentally who are avoided by all

there walk among us many spurned souls

living out sad lives in a lonely haze

feeding on empty dreams

and becoming anorexic

gazing longingly at lovers 

and then going home to a twin bed

that holds anything but a pair.

Parties of one who go with great 

reservations to any restaraunt

Imagine the aches of 

never knowing touch

sealed up orifices 

and raisin shrunk genitals

beat into submission at times

but never caressed by another.

The unwed homely

who never have

a happy wedded home

the shy who shy away from love,

the totally unattractive 

who know the cruelty 

of laughter from the other sex.

the list is endless and friendless

it extends farther than 

the three mile stare

of the ugly who have no 

wish to look any closer

at all of the lovers passing them by

life can be cruel but imagine the cruelty

of never enjoying life's 

finest offering......love.

those of us who are blessed

with the ability to attract 

those of the other sex

have known lonliness but it did not 

become a malignant cancer

that ate away at ones very soul.

potters fields are full of such folks

who died all alone, unknown

only a number marks their final 

resting place.

with no I.D.'s they leaped from buildings

and bridges, or were found frozen to death

in alleyways or deep woods.

we see them every day and yet we don't

it is easier not to get caiught up in

the suffering we never had to bear.

the beautiful people are to those who aren't

something they can only wish they were.

but there are no wishes come true

when there is no one else 

to share the joy with

why did God create such a margin

between those who have it all

and those who never had anything?

No prom where they would  

simply be promenaded

amidst the giggles and sneers

of those who aren't their peers.

no dates except birthdates

to remind them of how long 

they have endured solitude.

take a minute and share a smile

at one of these lost souls

for someday when all your beauty 

and handsomeness fades you 

could become one with them.

that simple smile and perhaps a hello

would give them some miniscule form 

of recognition that they still exist to others

It is a simple act

that would ease a lifetime of acting normal

when they know they are not. 

No one hears their screams in the wee hours

in the acres of sheets that whiten

a king or queen sized bed

that holds only a pauper of love.

the gallons of their tears shed  

could irrigate the Sahara

the word alone only contains one

I speak in this poem for all of those

who speak but are never heard

who gaze with longing

but are never longed for

who dream endlessly  but then 

they must wake up to a cold reality

Only death makes them equal

with all of the lovelier people

when the lovely and the ugly turn to bone

they are all exactly alike.

Beauty is only skin deep

but far too many have never even felt it 

penetrate that far. 

Somewhere there

must be a machine

cranking out irregulars

tailor made for the missed hers

and Miss understoods of sorrow's

less than perfect plans.

They sit clothed in despair

with no need to ever get naked

except to bathe in their pools of tears.  

Damn that machine

why can't it be dismantled?

why is life and love so unequal

to those who live without love? 

That will be my first question to God

if I am blessed with the 

opportunity to meet him