First World Privilege


while a city burns,

the many mouths we don’t perceive,

cry again to find some ease,

it is me that questions my reality,

what is my pain,

my travesty,

the burden of my own personal reality.


Someone suggests it can be measured,

I can give myself a break,

while the temperature in my room stays balanced,

the television sparkles in the corner,

so I remain comfortable,

in my voyeuristic tendency to follow

the horrific terror of others beyond my dreams.


I do wonder tonight, how we find our relative

coping skills, when I am feeling a stress,

that so many others would give their lives for,

instead of the balance of their own soul,

lost inside the evil response of the human condition.

I’m stuck, trying to find the words,

I’ve lost my rhythm, you can tell can’t you,

because I’m forever seeking an answer.


In the meantime, I’ll shut down the electricity

in my veins with a quiet distraction of naive complicity.

Please I would love you to share words, suggestions …

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