Do we think we can hold off the march of starvation? Is the dampness of truth holding a talon to our necks as well? Should we give in to it, let it swim down our streets? Can we salvage more pity than shall soon be kept for ourselves? Do you think we’d buy a minute of escape for those dying of a hunger which purchases empathy from our consumption of fear? Is it possible for us to feel remorse greater than our own cowering? We cannot fend off the devil of famine while waiting for our own… © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)