A child
who never cares
is a child
who's never kind.
A man
who never cares
is a gout
upon the earth.
Always hiding
in its crevices—
the easiest life
they lead, though.
For to not care
is to give nothing,
take nothing;
to not care
is to gift nothing,
receive nothing.
By not caring,
you are
not even a cog—
your stillness
greases the oily machine.
Your presence
moves no one,
for not to care
is to be free
of all this.
But we—
we are slaves
to care:
we care
for our place,
our part,
our purpose.
Yet they do not.
They are
the truly special,
diamonds
in the dust,
one of a kind—
But who would treasure
a thing
that doesn't shine?
I'd rather have a cog—
at least it turns
and does something
for us.