The Privileged

They're really not all that different from us;

If you think about it.

Sure, they have money.

Nicer cars,

Better homes,

More "friends".

Material substances,

That are wholly immaterial.

But it cannot buy them happiness,

Any more than our timid hope,

Can brighten the immediate future.

And when they've had enough,

When there simply is no other option,

That blue blood still comes out red.

The only difference?

What makes them privileged?

When they do it:

Somebody actually cares-

For a short, short while.