Saints

They raise up saints
in the religions I've known.
And then they carve them
in white marble stone.
What have they done
to deserve such praise?
Have they done anything more
than our poor earthly slaves?

It seems to me
that they're so far away.
Why do people pray to them
every single day?
Sainthood is saved
for holy ones,
not sisters, brothers and sons,
who may not be holy
but give up their lives.
Their white marble stone
never ever survives.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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