The Tale of Two Cities

Across the plains, only about an hour and a half away, stands a city of immaculate history. Undoubtedly of legendary status, the city stands tall among the metropolitan palaces scattered about the country. Housing superstar celebrities, athletes, artists, and musicians, the city harbors the hopes of fame and fortune for generations to come.

Towers scrape the sky,

dreams of infinite riches

equally frightful.

In their plight, many fail and fall further than they scale. Here lies the untold story of this city. The dark, murky, neglected shadows of the city lay low under the bright lights of optimism and dissonance. Most treat the fallen with fear, avoidance, and the turn of the nose. Scrapping for pennies and attention, the fallen crawl this great city for another chance.

“Please sir, spare some change.

I’m homeless and hungry, please.”

Ignored, villainized.

As a mere tourist to this city, equally exposed to antithetical realities, what can I do? Do I lend a hand, or do I ignore and go about my business? Can the fallen even be helped? How easy it is to ignore the children of misfortune, and live - nose pointed high - in the “clean” air.

Viewed as dirty and

dingy, help eludes the lost.

A product of bad

luck, misfortune, and sorrow.

Are they any less human?

I remember being conflicted, misusing my influence. Choosing to move past the fallen with my gaze cast downward, an irredeemable fault of character in that moment – one that I’ve convinced myself to let go. Privilege lies in the spectator lofted between the fallen and the towers above. Being able to reflect upon this privilege is essential in the judgement of moral corruptibility, the difference between the fallen and their oppressor – the towers.

No room for regret,

The oppressors live care-free

in their lifestyle.

Ignorant of damages

casted upon the fallen.