It Is My Fault

The impact of pale charity upon

This thin dark face indicts my smooth conceit;

That men for bread are given stones to eat

Is my own fault. I am the guilty one.

For I have been afraid to annoy the great,

And to the tyrant I have bent the knee;

When I protested I spoke low and late.

Ten thousand years this fault has been with me.

I lie, I cheat, I steal, I go deceiving

To keep my own place in the jealous sun,

All this for the sweet cowardice of living,

And I am you, and I am everyone.