Speak on the love felt for your sisters...empathetic...sympathetic...possibly psychopathic. As history records the destruction of same. As barriers, remnants remind us of slaves...as children go hungry in poetries name...as neglect and abuse thrive during games if adulthood...covers the twinge of remorse until the spectre of shame and loss of quivers with pulsed hand to strike again. Difficult to disappoint some. And still we bring that six pack home. Difficult to hurt someone and still we sneak around and tell them we cannot live without them. Difficult to live without wealth. And still wwe settle for the jobthat only allows us to live paycheck to paycheck. Difficult to see that child next door crying and bruised. And still we lift our hand to say hello and watch that child re-enter their door. Difficult to spend the time with you.