Crimson

Weakness,
joyful intolerance.
Ambiguity,
nonsensical laughter.
Varnish,
blind spot.
Redemption,
an escapist.
Revival,
cosmic galaxies.
Rebirth,
Karma.
Carnations,
crimson rivers.

We small people,
you and I,
swimming in each other's conscience,
happy yet contained,
innocent yet alert,
lost yet found.

Neither do I have,
neither do you possess,
we still walk together,
unaware of the "bigger" people's judgement.

A craning logic,
a didactic contradiction,
waiting for appraisal,
throwing scorn upon us,
never crossing your path.

Sometimes I cry,
ask why us?
But you say no,
possessing more,
they are the ones who should shed a tear.

We small people,
live within ourselves,
ask for nothing,
only take from each other.
But still,
why do the bigger ones pry?