the storm is always raging somewhere,
greater and more terrible than our experience.
the lives of others and their dealings being
an academic sort of subject,
we pass naturally into cocoons made of
be they made of money, or just pride.
but the storm is still there, and
our turn comes, whereupon we ask
as though the many whose misfortunes we ignored
were never actually there.
humanity is not an inherited trait,
it is an awakening.
and, as they say back home,
will wake your ass up