They have Moses and the prophets

Haiku for closed eyes.

Poor man Lazarus,
by the gate, covered with sores;
we walk right past him.

The unnamed rich man,
dressed in purple, fine linen,
feasting ev’ry day.

Discarded food scraps
do not reach the rich man’s gate
or the beggar there.

Empathy fails us.
Please don’t disturb our comfort.
Make the beggars leave.

Death comes to us all.
Rich or poor, it matters not;
was your life worthwhile?

Where are your riches;
From where will your comfort come
when your life has passed?

Send me Lazarus,
or let him warn my brothers
that they might be saved.

That’s not how it works.
Let them listen to Moses,
and the prophets too

We’d rather not know.
Even when it’s God who speaks,
we do not listen.

 

© Ken Rookes 2016

 

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