People have problems

and the problems have people.

We grow hope but it’s up the church steeple.

I want to talk about mine but no one listens

they are arguing and talking loudly missing

the point

all my words are disjointed

why should yours take preference let’s talk about mine

see mine are more pressing so let’s not whine about yours

for let’s face it you don’t want hear what’s bottled up in my daily dose of fears

you’ve all got your problems

can I turn into a sad little shadow

haunting a corner of a solitary room

there’s no room for me in your gloom

And tombs aren’t the sought of place

for the daily rat race

so shout the loudest

be proud of your problems

let me be an agony aunt

for you when it’s my turn you won’t or can’t…

listen…