Men and women warm up their interiors
With a little coin to a ragamuffin
Or praying loud and hard next to a crucifix
Or sharing a facebook page of a lonely beggar child
Caught unaware to the camera.
Knowing freezing point is when
The engine of the conscience will have
Ice particles all over their nuts and bolts
And no amount of agony imbued in human flesh
Will make her dissect the many pieces
Of horror, to the muscle of human spit,
Or to fingerprints of intent
Or to the nonchalant eye that imprints
On rods and cones, the vagrancy of charity.
Oblivious, too fattened with greed.
When flesh turns to a whiter shade of pale
Taken over by a spiteful ogre, a leviathan,
Of the cold arctic seas, and winter
Turns herself to a hideous creature
That monopolizes everything in her path
With a condition, of the absence
Of sensory receptors to make a little heat,
To melt, to thaw, to lubricate the conscience
With a little fat or oil. We call it APATHY.
And like permafrost below the soil,
Killing the many forms of life around it,
Too deep, too fat and bulky, exceedingly frozen,
Too selfish ever to thaw to a watery stream
Of beautiful deed.