to some,
all solitude is
loneliness

to others,
every crowd is just
a mob

to many
happiness is 
to be envied

still others:
even love is
just a job

in waking,
there is much that
brings us sorrow

in sleeping,
there are things
we dare not speak

in living,
there's the choice
to keep on going

for it's what's inside
that often
makes

us


weak