If words were objects instead of feelings
transformed into sound,
the things you say would upset me.
The world values how many people you possess,
the size of your garage, the number of cars inside.
Integrity is deluded solitaire.
Compassion counts only by its market rate.
The difference between truth and reality
adds up to few facts.
Inconveniences for the rich; life or death for the rest of us
who float into heaven through welcoming gates.
The narrow needle’s eye chokes the wealthy into hell.
Wait until then, but now in the here, what
we thought was just postponed will never be.
Our expectations are insufficiently low.
We take refuge in prayer.
We affirm Thy Will Be Done.
They hammer nails into our palms
before we whisper amen.
— Timothy Herrick/2013
Copyright held by author/2013