Tragedy is not love gone wrong
and a sad goodbye,
it’s holding the bony hand
of a tiny orphaned child
that never felt a hug
in his lifetime.

Tragedy is not laying flowers
on my father’s grave
when I hold a wealth
of tender memories;
it’s the irony of offering
world peace
and slaying thousands
in a foreign land.

Tragedy is not longing for a hand
to hold mine on a lonely night,
because my soul is rich
and I’ll never be truly alone.
Tragedy is a small girl
working her shift,
used by evil men,
and her little girl body
will never be the same. 

Tragedy is owning a mansion
and not sharing pocket change
with a beggar
that has no place to call home.

Tragedy is a mouth
that can only utter lies
yet was given opportunities
of great power.

Tragedy is robbing the light
of small candles,
when I was made to be
a light giver. 

Tragedy is dying with riches
but in a selfish bed,
without a friend to attend your wake. 

Tragedy is dying
without truly having lived.
And not making a difference
when I was born
to grace my corner of the world
with peace. 

Tragedy is always wanting more
and never knowing
how truly much I have.