Propitious Peasant

We are the peasants of our time. Making ends meet, paying debts, “doin‘ fine.”

Silentry gasping for air in the prison cell we share.

No one says it, but it’s understood.

It’s what we’re thinking when we answer, “I’m good.”

It’s evident in the number of children who go hungry at night.

You’ll see it on the street corner wearing ragged clothing clutching a sign.

You’ll find it in the news stories that seek to divide.

The people—who want the same things—are deceived into believing a group is a lesser human being.

Yet, I’ve seen kindness in the wake of disaster.

I’ve known a stranger who was really an angel.

I‘ve read of heroiones who brought about a new chapter.

This is is the kind of present I’m after.