Egotistical

Among the red pastures

Lakes the shades of grey

Black, endless skies

Their souls still remain

Gossiping at the highest tables

Tall chairs of ivory

Polished cutlery of gold

Eyes bleed with mistrust

Amongst the rest of us

.

Their voices scream of joy

As we cried for help

Their bodies, mere carcasses

Yet they are still present

.

The tall had a power-trip

Spilling grapes from their mouths

Unto a sea of weeping faces

.

We were born unworthy

We had died on the streets

They had only laughed

Or had acted as martyrs

.

In cracked land

Hollow beaches

Ruined cities

We hid in the shadows

Bathed in rust

Ate crumbs left behind

.

Are we unworthy of love?

Or did love never seek us?

.

We will never know

Unless we kill egotism itself