by: William Reichard

I’ve come to believe there is no god, just a balance
of sorts: each bad thing weighted against a good.
In this sense, the ancient Egyptians had it right:
the god Horace with his scale, each human heart
weighed against a feather before entry to
the underworld was granted. I doubt anyone
could make that journey now. There is no bird
with feathers heavy enough to match the burden
of the human heart. It’s in the news everyday:
a war here, holocaust there, a desert country
starving while some men own cars worth
more than the gross economy of a small nation.
When the rich lose anything, they weep at their
bitter misfortune. When the poor have nothing,
they don’t wonder what it means to lose.