Cast the First Stone

To the cameraman who through your distant lense sees one man with another's wife, and clicks and silently uploads, to expose, and so to make those lives implode. Who do you see behind your shuttered home? With wife away and children gone, no prying eye save God's alone, yet, still you pick and throw first stone. To the journalist, seekings idle chatter and thinks it does not matter to craft your print for more damming slant, that glint of gossip, that careful hint arising from unguarded natter. Let’s take a lense and see your life, alone, and how you sniff that chalky line; and while you pick and throw that stone, drink just one more 'fore callng ‘time’. To the editor who holds their coats, while dreadful damming work is done, do tell us how you treat your wife, and your daughter, and your son? Show us all, expose your lives. Before you seek those speckled eyes, look to the logs that are your own, before you cast your wounding stone.