the rose man

What could you take from a man who gives nothing?

In hate and in selfish pride you withhold ransom denying those without the fat which they deserve. When Truth she asks, "Ain't I A Woman?" and you pass her by knowing that it's not her just deserve -- you speak without thinking, but what's worse, you think without speaking.
Your selfish, bleeding heart turns you into not just a swine -- an entire hoard. Constantly you slide by them, each time sending a chill up your spine. That's the fingers of sympathy, of compassion and kindness running and grasping for your attention. But instead you treat it as a stray dog with which you cannot find it within yourself to emote not one, NO, not even one ounce of pity despite your knowledge, your experience, your own personal self-worth.
Even if on the rare occasion you actually do notice the man in the wheelchair sitting outside the cafe selling long-stem roses of various colors, does it really cause you to become imbued? Or rather is it simply just scratching for a moment at a scab that can never quite seem to heal?


*Inspired by the documentary "Great Speeches From A Dying World"