The Invisible Hand

So happy in so little

So sad with so much

The gap between the haves and have nots

Is more often than not bridged

With what we call a smile

It’s a curve

And, at times, a curveball

It’s either served

On a platter

Or at a buffet, free for all

It carries with it the ghosts of unshed tears

Of trials, tribulations and all our fears

And silent screams of anguish

And efforts rendered futile

But they are what fuel and drive it

Through that very last mile

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