The Cold Within

I didn't write this - but, it's one of my favorite poems... One of the reasons I write poetry... It is such a great story and imagery... This poem is generally published as written by Anonymous (who writes a lot of stuff)... Anyway... Here's the poem...

The Cold Within

Six humans trapped in happenstance

In the dark 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 of the faces around the fire

She noticed one was black

The second man, looking across the way

Saw not one of his church

And he just 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 idol 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, shiftless poor

The black man's face bespoke revenge

As the fire died out of sight

For all he saw in his stick of wood

Was a chance to spite the white

The last man in this forlorn group

Did naught except for gain

Giving only to those who gave

Was how he played the game

Six logs gripped tight by death's still hands

Was proof of human sin

They didn't die from the cold without

They died from the cold within