A simple person, reflected through this tireless history:

each tear of mine is your own, a killing of profit where killing concerns,

each dollar spent is a little less and a little more so we consider it equality.

A coin drops

and the whole world shudders

eyes stolen by the child throwing pennies in a fountain.

Horror-stuck expression reflected in the

expanse of mirrors confining a guilty subconscious.

Impervious to your own entanglement

(with this endless grasping for more) you have forgotten,

in practicality opposing truths cannot unite.

Honesty denies your pleasure and you hate her for it.

It’s a war of love with flower that fall

as crystalline trails down my cheeks.

We all shot the messenger when she threw money in the silence.

All that remains?

The tears of children gathered

by angels who fall as we slap away their outstretched arms.

Preferring to coddle our bitterness in our softest places -

the heart of this world. It beats like your feet upon the gravel

as you run into my arm and I cry.

In my hypocrisy

I called myself, “Teacher”

Forgetting my own journey

when we saw the lights fade and you held my hand

where deep gashes covered my palms – pennies that healed.

In love you spent those dollars so I could be left with pennies,

A simple person reflected through our tireless history.