To Newspaper

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You reach my doorstep at 7 o' clock sharp,
Your loyalty knows no bounds,
You pour forth tales from across the globe,
Yet, I forever seem to shudder at the way you sound.
Why do you have to blurt out stories of distress and death
When pain plagues us all?
Why do you have to be so very honest,
Unnerving people immensely whenever something befalls?
Newspaper, I better turn a deaf ear to you,
And weave a world of my own,
A world shielded from your scorching truth,
Oblivious, peaceful and alone.

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