Gethsemane

While I was sleeping,
you cried.
While I shifted position to take more comfort
you threw yourself to the ground, shouting for mercy.
Even as I sank deeper into slumber
you dissolved,
Begging for some shred of humanity
from those who would see you tortured and maimed.
I covered my eyes,
lest the light should disturb; you walked
deeper into darkness, far from home;
far from rest.
I put my fingers in my ears, drowning the sound
that would drag me from repose; your sobbing
masked
by my indifference.

So what would you have me do?
My role is little
A little power, a little wealth; but my desire for sleep
is overwhelming. See, here it comes again:
the lassitude,
that blankets any impulse to be of help.
I barely hear the screams, these days;
the growling stomachs, the whimpering children,
the muffled shrieks of outrage silenced
by brutal power.
My own unconsciousness
is all I crave; let me not know.
Let me sleep, now; my dreams lie
undisturbed.