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The Most Important Thing

You can’t hear them weeping or screaming in pain, terror, or sorrow
Over the constant sound of your own voice.

But that’s ok.
Because that’s the most important thing.

You can’t feel their pain and weariness or sharp jabs of hunger
Over how uncomfortable your new shirt is.

But that’s ok.
Because that’s the most important thing.

You can’t taste the dryness in their parched mouths or the remains they found in the trash
Over the wretched taste of that casserole in your mouth.

But that’s ok.
Because that’s the most important thing.

You can’t smell the rotting flesh or piles of human waste that fill their streets
Over your friend’s too strong perfume.

But that’s ok.
Because that’s the most important thing.

You can’t begin to understand their worries of how to clothe, feed, or house their children
Over how troublesome it is to find just the right outfit.

But that’s ok.
Because that’s the most important thing.

You can’t imagine their constant agony
Over whatever small trouble may have this instant.

But that’s ok.
Because that’s the most important thing.

Isn’t it?





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