Clueless Ink

How do we believe

in what our eyes have never seen?

And how do we turn away

from what stands clear before us?

How do we shape an idol

from a face we’ve never known,

yet stumble to draw the line,

a bright line,

between the just and the unjust

dancing in plain sight?

How do we bow to stories

whispered through the years,

yet close our eyes

to the inhumanity

unfolding beneath the open sky?

How do we bow to stories

whispered across the years,

yet shut our eyes

to what was carved just yesterday?

Shut our eyes

to the inhumanity

dancing under the open sky?

How? 

And why?