Special Poem by Patti Masterman

Who are you, are you who you say
you are- or are you not more likely somebody
suspicious and loitering,
some liar just living it up, while pretending
to be otherwise on the outside?

If you get angry, it is only
your anger at what you have done,
how you have been to others-
mistrusting, misleading-
while they were busy living the same lie as you.

Aren't we all coy murderers
who think the rules get bent for us alone?
That nobody was ever as lucky or as clever?
That we must be forgiven seventy times seventy?
That our brand of spiritual poverty makes us special?