Hope floats

Dear editor:

Thoughts after the Rose Garden party,

May 4, 2017.

And so the privileged swill their celebratory beer and slap each other’s backs in boastful strokes, admiring with glee the swelling of their heads while the poor and misfortune strike a sad note, perhaps shed some tears, and rejoin the ranks of those who toil over their meager patches of earth, the aches in their back all the while grow worse.

There are no badges to be won and worn when one’s sick and dying in quiet repose, no trophies, no cheers, just a wish for a cure, and not be forgotten, ignored. Indeed, they’ve earned through what birth or the earth has granted their body at least an adequate modicum of humanity’s care.

And in whose heart do we look for remorse, who will dare to look in a mirror, or in their final reckoning beyond the voting booth will these boasting, lawmaking Christian men answer that simple question put to them, “Did you do unto you what you did to them?” “Don’t bother with an answer,” the reply will be before they can speak, “your pants are on fire, so you won’t get in to that heavenly place you profess to believe.”

The strong of the weak for the masses will now speak, shout from the rafters and march in the streets, for this is how a vital country speaks, with the heart-pounding emotion that comes from knowing: what these greedy, self-serving righteous men, with money bag ears and moral blind eyes, have done to the ones who shall inherit the earth, is just plain wrong.

Hope floats in the air we can still breathe that those in control will talk with the knowledge there are humans behind every word and number they dribble and shout from their pontifical mouths so that in the end, by the goodness of whatever God it is that you daily pray and have faith, we all can find proper care and peace, and not be shunned in our pursuit of life, liberty and happiness. John Zubro Hot Springs