The Cold Within
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In black and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story’s told.
Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back
For on the faces around the fire,
She noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the way
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn’t bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third man sat in tattered clothes;
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy poor.
The black man’s face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
And the last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death’s still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn’t die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.
Moral of the poem :
6 different folks from diverse walks of life have different strokes of attitudes . Instead of combined effort for warmth of survival, each held onto their own selfishness and coldness of the heart; thinking as long as their own resources still enclave within their own safety net, they’ll emerge the triumph lone survivor. Little do they know that without the sharing, each would die a shivering death. On this lonely planet, all humans are interdependent upon each other, as all are connected in someway somehow.