for all the talk of being lucky to be alive
in the age of modern miracles
when science and technology promise hope and solutions to every problem
where opportunity has the greatest chance
and skin color matters less than before
i feel misplaced
anachronistic
as if i was meant for the struggles of the past
riots, famine, death
handicaps, discontentment, disease
they are my familiar companions
what i was built for
to thrive where others barely survive
let the weak enjoy prosperity
give me the gloom and suffering
for i too know the martyrdom of muhammed and jesus
the dirtiness of life and living
the dark side of the moon
the crepuscular creep of the psyche
a reservoir of shadows
that truly defines humanity
the sadness that forms the foundation
from which all dreams arise
let others pluck the fruit from the tree of life
and i shall be the worms that feed the roots
and return the buried corpse to the ground
from dust we came and so shall we return