A rising tide lifts all boats yet not all enjoy the lift.
Some boats are in fact useless, abandoned
On the shore, and the tide only bringing more woe
Showing just how broken and hollow
They have become.
And in a world of such abundance
The shores clutter with such abandon
Lining streets and alleys, parks and plazas
Waiting for something vague and ill-defined
Hands out in passive supplication.
Last week the masses protested No Kings
And this they beg their masters
For the food they haven’t bothered to earn
Or save, unaware they are the victims
Of nothing but their own karmas.
Beggars rely upon the generosity of strangers
Or the redistribution of wealth
By the powers that be
Who steal for them
To keep the peace.
A master may beg as well, but being wise
With gratitude and equanimity
Knows it’s all good, but only for a moment.
While the fool views it all with a grasping mind
Thinking it will last forever.
Beggars, thieves and fools mix and mingle
In the marketplace, sometimes all in one,
But more often in different forms and roles.
Sharp and shiny suits or soiled and tattered rags
Are no proof of who is who.
(10/29/25)
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