Temple Of The Self # 5 Poem by Eric Cockrell

guilty fingers pointing back
till they pierce our heart.
i could say i'm not like you,
but you'd shine a light into my dark!

we take without thinking
about the scars we leave behind.
make judgements without blinking,
the walking deaf and blind.

and the sound of the heart
shakes the ground.
hunger burns, the sea churns,
and babies drown.

you pray to God,
but your prayers fall amid the furor.
in the temple of the self,
bowing down to the mirror!