Suburbs

Suburbs
What is this cold hard fist in my stomach?
The unrelenting demand for release-
The fear, the regret, the reluctance.
The years are gone now,
I have been nobody and done nothing.
I have seen people die for justice
I have seen people suffer in the name of humanity
All this I have seen from my well-appointed living room
That never sheltered a person in need
Of more than a cocktail.

How will I account for this?
I, given the curse of potential
Tragically the realization comes too late
That I didn't have to have Egyptian cotton sheets
And that my bed was already too soft.