Wolves and Rabbits

I cannot find the shore

Where intention is

More than ritual.

I cannot find peace

Between the blinks

Of moonlight and blindness.

Give money to the

Beggar

At the stoplight

And I feel

Not so shitty.

Do I wish to ease

The slow scratch

Of hunger

As it rakes out

Against the world in protest?

Or am I oblivious

And just needed

A reason

To smile?

Are we just wolves

Sharing rabbits

And my conscious is simply

A request

That violence

Is envied by peers?

Or maybe I actually care.

I dont know most times.

So I hold the door open,

When I can,

For strangers,

Hoping that if I see myself

In everyone.

Maybe some of this counts.

Much like the moon

And what it pretends to be.