Moraliterate

Each of you sits in secret
Judgment, some hours, of people

Who will never know you’ve been
Judging them, will never know

Of your existence as judge,
Cannot possibly know you

Now exist judging them, since
So many of those you judge

Simply don’t exist themselves,
Even of those that once did,

Those you knew that died and those
Only words and images

Left by the great many dead.
Still you judge them, in your head.