Alternate Title: 'We Are The Friends'
They are wrong.
They are so very wrong.
We can't hear their voice.
They call out to us - they say:
Isn't this injustice?
Isn't this torture?
Isn't this slavery?
But we can't hear.
We talk louder.
We talk about other things.
We talk about their failings;
We talk about their sin;
We talk about their error.
They sit in their ash-pits,
Covered with sin,
Covered with death,
Covered with sores,
Maligning righteousness,
Indicting the good we do,
Trying to pull us down with them.
They call out to us - they say:
Is this right?
Is this fair?
Is this justice?
But we won't hear;
Instead we talk about maintaining order,
We talk about helping others,
We talk about sharing,
We talk about becoming involved.
They moan on their death-beds accusingly,
They sigh from their cells,
Their deaths scream out to us,
Maligning righteousness,
Indicting good,
Trying to pull down God.
They call out to us - they say:
Would you want this?
Would you choose this?
Would you live this?
But we refuse to hear,
Instead we talk about precedent,
Instead we talk about independence,
Instead we talk about the needs of others,
We shift away so that they don't contaminate us.
They shuffle in their shackles frighteningly,
Occasionally they catch our eyes uncomfortably,
They abusively mention their lost children,
They truculently bring up their lost freedom,
Trying to make us feel sorry for what they deserved,
Trying to shift the argument,
Trying to unseat justice.
They call out to us - they say;
Would you do this to your friend?
Would you do this to a servant?
Do you still keep slaves?
But we won't hear;
We make up stories about them that might be true,
We talk about the rights of others,
We talk about how they cannot be trusted,
They are wrong.
They are so very wrong.
We can not hear their voice.
