Marbles

Clacking marbles, that's all we are—
Apathetic, bouncing off each other,
Passing by without a care or even waving.
Isolated, that's what we are—
Tombed in splendid homes with gates and shutters,
All-consumed with our own comfort,
Living in excess with bloody footprints
In our wake from those dehumanized for profit.
Selfishness concealed by friendly smiles and Sunday manners
Making us look good without the inconvenience of caring.

Victims of our fear, our walls become our prisons.
Sanitized to death, we lose our souls.

Could there be hope for more than this?
Our lives could grow together, intertwined
More closely than a twisting vine; our hearts
May choose to love—
Unswerving, wildly, recklessly,
Not bound by fear, but leaping headlong into life
In all its broken, dirty, pain-filled glory as
These grapes are crushed together—can't you see?
You were not made to be a clacking marble.