Glass Cage
I admired their slow arrogance.
Like the muddy Mississippi of my mother,
They let words flow languidly,
Deriding any one book
Except the one in their hands
And sitting on their invented thrones,
Pointing—
A lone finger drooping slightly—
As they relegated the lesser mortals
Of Faith
Into boxes nesting within each other,
Never suspecting that the world
Was not so concrete.
It was later,
When I came to talk and found my breath
Pooling inches from their haughty faces
On the glass that they had never reached far enough to touch,
That I realized that there was nothing of more joy
Than sitting around an unfamiliar book
And talking with strangers about the old and new gods
That dance beneath our eyes.
[I sincerely want to see how many people will throw labels on the glass-cage believers without seeing if the imaginary throne is their own. Arrogance among believers of different things is not an uncommon theme in this section, but one might be surprised at who I am referring to. This was inspired by a swift, painful realization that some of the people I used to admire most are just as scornful, petty, and shallow as those I've disliked all along. Review please.]