I passed by the open door, head shaking in awe
At the petty grievances held, the loftiness of the up-turned nose,
At the minds closed to all but grandeur.
For some, it’s bathed in silk and velvet,
For others, gashing wounds are a Divine right.
Life without the love of Heaven is the truest state of poverty –
The oppressed take pride in their sorrows,
While others are strangled with silk brocade.
I pity those without eyes to see –
With padlocked hearts and souls.
Truly, a gilded cage can be lined with lead
And come in many forms.
Poetry Copyright © 2020 by Ena Whiteraven All rights reserved.
Image: found online, photographer unknown