journal · prose

Scales and Pawns

How many live happily in hovels while words ring hollow in mansions starkly cold and empty? But what about the poor, who scrape the dirt for pennies with tears in their eyes, while the rich laugh into their wine cups? And those in the middle, do they not also wear both smiles and frowns? There appears to be little sense in measuring quality of life in terms of cents and dimes. In any case, is life not what you make of it? Or perhaps there is some balance, that must be maintained on a scale more massive than any single person can comprehend, and we are all but pawns on its scales. Does everything really even out, work out, in the end? You or I might never know.


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