Small

When is there a day for sweet sadness?

Where; a road for that lonely journey?

Locked behind that window pane of caged glass

A prison of our own devising that we label

A ‘living’…

That such living is a myth,

A lie we tell ourselves to make the tedium of it bearable,

We question not because it has become a necessity

The accepted evil in a society that has lost the penchant for

Celebration of the simple things – the good things.

I did a mean and small spirited thing

And now I feel the guilt.

I averted my eyes and strolled on

Past a fellow of society who needed help

But I bent my head and reasoned

That if I did not look at him, if I did not see him

Then he simply wasn’t there.

I was not alone of course,

Like so many others beside me I just kept walking

Thinking that he was not my responsibility.

And now I wonder am I really that jaded?

Am I really that small a person that I can not look past

The obvious?

He reeked of alcohol and stale BO,

But does that make him any less deserving of –

If not my pity, or charity –

Then at least basic human kindness?

And only now, when I’ve had time to sit and think on my actions

When I am once again tucked securely in my small prison of life

Do I wonder why did I not just open my mind and my heart then?

In that moment when I dropped my gaze and walked on by?

Why now when it is too late do I think on my actions and see them for

What they truly are?