You Who

YOU WHO STONE


You who stone the prophets, or else lounge to ignore
them in disdain while they live, but when dead, then
heap up a mass of flowers in prodigailty on their memorial
and after raise whitewashed stones in their honour as
if they were one of you, your own, as if you were like them.

How could you be who have refused the road, the dry miles?
You who could not bear in any share of their word scraping.
You who could not even hear, would not try to use that tongue
- as if it was an organ, a finger so coloured, so foreign, so
strange, that all pride in yourself as unprejudiced is lost?


- WDK @ 17 December 2014