why

why,
when we are not looked upon,
and our hand held,
when we are beheld,
as vanity,
as vain vapour,
when speech undermines our presence,
By joy and laughter we are mocked?
Peace breaks our hearts?
Why do we simply shrug,
To cast this load off our backs?
Why then do the odds dictate
we shake hands with corpses...
so they may give a hand?

why,
when we walk
upon upraised arms and heads,
and soil apparel not our own,
our feet to wipe,
and embroider walls with
blood,sweat, and tears of those we loathe,
We are exulted?