The Sunday News gushes over me like a shudder,
A strange world held lightly in idle fingers,
And my indifference shows me my fear.
	 I look at my world, and I am frightened.

The sun peeping from a fugitive cloud startles me,
And I force out an embarrassed chuckle
At the flush of guilt which prickles my brow.
	I read about others, and I feel the guilt.

Phrases and words clutch at me in nightmare confusion,
Point with bony accusing fingers,
And my shoulders sag under the unseen load.
	My brothers sin their sins, yet I feel the shame.

With all this fear, all this guilt, all this shame,
Can I be as innocent as I claim?