Footsteps of Hope

It’s easy
Loving perfection—
The notion of the Absolute—
Because there’s nothing to lose.

They sit in air-conditioned rooms
With stained-glass windows
To keep the scars
And pain
Of reality
From disturbing their vision of perfection
That exists only in their delusions.

The wretched—
Hoping for a bit of humanity
On life’s tear stained
Streets—
Are right outside the door.