Written by Jennifer Spurgeon
The scales tip in my favor, but I sit back and watch each weight fall.
There’s much to do, but I bury my head in the sand-
Even ostriches know when to run.
I level out my excuses and feed them through—the algorithm hides it from view.
Go out and protest—I’m much too lazy.
Stand my ground—my morals are much too hazy.
The answer is simple: learn to fight.
Fear wins every battle.
Looking to the sky, the sun burns my eyes.
It’s light, and bright, but my soul reeks of death.
Giving in to nothing more than my perception, I fall behind.
If there are those to look out for, I’ll stare out from my hiding place.
What am I but a foul-mouthed beast dressed to the nines,
Blood worn on my gown as I step over bodies.
See how little I have moved.
Persons left beneath me groan:
War and peace
Life and death
Each exists with the other.
Truth be told, modern civilities are nothing more than frivolities.
Together we speak, but only one voice is heard:
Stand up tall for those not like me.
Vile blood drips over lips and down chins-
Every one.
What have I but morals unlived?
Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead- James 2:17, NKJV
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Jennifer Spurgeon is a substitute teacher living in Colorado with her husband and son. Outside of existing in the physical world, she can be found drowning in music or manipulating her thoughts into poetic words of melancholy. Her short story, When We Were Young, will be published in Wild Ink’s Prom Perfect anthology. Other publishing news and short writings are posted on einetogicuentos.blogspot.com