Rebirth

The sun brings forth new lives

into a young world. This world becomes diseased,

leaving its inhabitants suffering.

The sun sends out its heat

in the form of a breath

to heal us from the ice.

Beaming down on those crystallized in ice

hoping for a new life to live,

the sun becomes a whisper and breathes

shallowly. The disease

takes its course. We watch the homeless man as he eats

in an alley. The sun is failing. We mock his suffering.

He's too poor to know what it means to suffer.

Hearts become ice —

the sun still failing. We run to our homes, our heaters.

The man no longer lives

the way he did before He diseased

him and forced the man to exist in disheartened breaths.

Worship the sun, the Son, the breathing

breeze. The man stopped the way he suffered.

It changed. It's a newer disease

that is thrice as big as the sun's eyes.

The wind whisks as if on a live

feed produced on a hot day displaying heat

waves on the pavement. Is it a manageable heat?

The sun thrives, but the Poor cannot breathe.

It was a beautiful day for those who lived their lives

on the inside. The poor homeless man still suffers.

The false beauty of what you or I see

is the truth behind the man's disease.

The prognosis is not fair in the diseased

man. The sun and the man become heated;

our hearts still iced like a Starbucks' coffee.

Shallow, staggering, dry, heaving, burn. Breathe.

His lungs collapsing. Ode to Suffering Poor.

The sun, with its lack of humanity, ignores the lost lives.

The man, lives no more.

Civilization continues ignoring his suffering;

his cries of help through breathlessness.

We, in ourselves, are the diseased.

We leave others to be held in heat

and trapped in agony. We look down on those frozen in ice