It Has Become A Custom

It has become a custom, To turn away... From another's aches and pains. It has become a custom. To witness then dismiss, Someone enduring through a suffering. A suffering that remains, We pretend not to see or believe exists. It has become a custom, Not to listen to give attention... With understanding intended to obtain. And it has become a custom, To ignore others trying to explain... What we've asked from questions, For answers to get. We have grown too accustomed, To interrupt and not await with patience to give. For something else we wish that has appeal, More with our wants to satisfy our hearts. Instead of using our minds for a purpose to think. Too long gone departed from our heads. And too long distanced to retrieve that link. It has become a custom to see and disbelieve. Than it is to believe what it is we see, Knowing others will agree of its impossibility. It has become a custom, To turn away... From another's aches and pains. It has become a custom. To witness then dismiss, Someone enduring through a suffering. A suffering that remains, We pretend not to see or believe exists. It has become a custom to see and disbelieve. Than it is to believe what it is we see, Knowing others will agree of its impossibility. To then wonder why a quality of life, That has eroded before our eyes... Occurs. Without 'someone' doing 'something' about it.