The Bad Ones

With melancholy faces, they watch Eyes soft, howling Forever open. Waiting for fate to appear. Never expecting Never envious Never scornful Only pitiful, as they look above at the others The good ones. Though time and breathe are undeserved Time and breathe reward the good ones. Not for content, but for the cloak shrouded about it. The same cloak willingly abandoned by the bad ones. The act that makes the bad ones better. They are better because they know. They know their badness. They embrace it. It’s the good ones that don’t always do.