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The Social Conscience Lives

by
Poet Holmes

The deep plight that was mine as a child inspired me
to care about the world for many years. My thoughts,
my loyal heart, and my dedication were for those who
suffered the most. Most of the words that I spoke to
others were in recognition of those most unseen. And
on the day that I arrived to prosperity, the moment I
realized that I was living abundantly, freely, and
with no regrets, the sorrow for others that had once
grabbed at my soul, lifted up into the clouds like a
distant memory. I felt no longer responsible or
bonded to the millions of babies, children, and adults
that cried out in agony from hunger, from abuse.
Mother Theresa lost her nobility in my eyes, and
became a figure that never discovered the riches and
arts in life. And I finally understood why it was
that so many of the rich, the well-off, and the upper
class disregarded the unfortunate. Their lack of
deprivation made them blind to the skinny bones and
open wounds of unfed children. And their sturdy wealth
isolated them, made them deaf to the cries of those
who needed. This realization crept up to me softly
like the weightless pillow on my rich lap. I had
earned these lavish surroundings, the thousands of
dollars spent on worldly decorations for my elegant
abode, the silky, velvety and colorful fabrics that
lived like lifetime servants in my home. I could live
the rest of my life and not feel a pang of guilt or
remorse for the money that I did not share with those
in need. God would not strike me down, as my Sunday
school lessons had taught me. Those who didn’t give
would not die menacing deaths or be prey for Satan.
I was free of my conscience, the conscience that had
driven me to care. I was safe from ridicule, and I
could live and be respected and enjoy the most
flavorful foods in the world. But the soul in me was
a devoted soul. I would live the rest of my life in
service to those in need. I would walk many poor up
to the view of the sea from my window, to the heights
of my existence above everybody else, as many hopeless
wanderers, and wounded people as time and my strength
would allow. And my strength would be passed to the
people with loving hearts, like a river carrying fresh
water to the sea.


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