Monday, February 27, 2012

Reposted from 2 years ago: My poem about Jerry Lewis and the Muscular Dystrophy Association


Birth of a Cynic

His hero was spokesperson for the charity
The cause, a life-threatening curse
The boy tried to make cash selling lemonade
but it didn't bring much of a purse.

He got two paper routes and tried
to save every possible cent
After two years he raise $100 bucks
and off to the charity it was sent.

He hid the fact of his donation
as a secret in his heart
that he did good no one should know
he just tried to do his part.

His neighbor's nephew had the disease
but ran around with glowing health
The treatment was simple, easy and cheap
So why did the charity seek wealth?

Any child who found out of this cure
they said he was misdiagnosed
And the search went on for expensive cures
needing more and more cash, one supposed.

But the boy could see it had all been a lie
and his money was given to wolves
His passion was ripped like a flower from his heart
and his joy at the world became shelved

The boy carried on though his turbulent heart
Strove with anger and shame and violence
His emotions were wracked and seared and died
and his innocence faded into silence.

Copyright hgl 6-30-2010

1 comment:

  1. Are you telling me Jerry Lewis actually did something that wasn't self-serving? (I am not a fan; saw him cuss out a star-struck volunteer at one of his telethons (he didn't know the camera was on him). All she said was, 'Mr. Lewis, my parents just love you and they're in the audience. They wouold LOVE to have your autograph!'
    His response was self-important, vulgar and cruel. I've always wondered if he noticed that he lost an entire family of fans - and everyone else who saw his horrible behavior!)

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