Humble

How does your heart steadily beat,

under the weight of all of that guilt?

How do you rest against cotton and silk,

as savagery continues to stir in the night?

I watch in disbelief

when you dance upon the raw and bloody flesh

of those who remain lame.

Do you recognize those blind yellow eyes

that gaze up at you beneath your mirror?

How about those ashen, oozing lesions

that dapple the arms reaching for your silver, your gold?

As you bathe in your oils of gladness,

captives continue to rot and spoil.

You are not above the lost,

simply because you are found.

You are not greater than the sick,

solely because you are healed.

Beneath your jewels and your spirits

lingers a pink and fleshy body,

still drenched in that slime and shame.

r.w.