Who am I,
to reach a soul,
To invade the ironic sanctity,
Of their personal space,
Regardless of their current life decisions?
What gives me the authority,
To assume,
I am sent to pierce,
Question their choices,
Their convictions,
Beliefs,
At any moment in time?
Such an arrogant farce,
A misconception thought by many,
Born from noble intentions,
And yet,
In the purest form,
As sense of selfishness.
Who am I to pursue,
To persuade those around me,
To convince them,
To follow my ways,
MY convictions,
MY beliefs,
If I don't even know,
Anything...
Anything about them,
Who they are,
In presence of others,
In private...
And by themselves.
These three are not the same.
How can I connect with a soul,
So different,
Born of such diverging circumstances,
Such unknown hardship,
Unrevealed routines,
Customs hidden,
To the naked eye,
Born from merciless free will,
Instilled by our very God upon this world,
As a free will vice.
To preach his word I am sent,
That much I believe to know...
However,
Who am I?
To believe,
What I believe
Takes precedence,
Over what others do?
My self-awareness plagues me,
I steer in its behest,
Only in the direction,
That my ever-growing mind allows.
How can I Judge those who hate?
If they have a reason to,
How can I convince a man,
To follow God,
If I feel farther that them from him?
Am I fit to be such a messenger?
Am I adequate to lead by example?
Is what I wish to say,
That important?
Who?
Who can I reach?
If everyone has their own north star,
If everyone,
In life's constantly moving circumstances,
Has found happiness,
With or without my beliefs.
Who am I to say?
True happiness starts the way,
I, was taught?
Why?
Why should I convince someone,
To change their ways?
If amongst their days,
Living free willed purpose,
They smile,
They laugh,
They walk in glee.
Is it truly as simple?
I went right,
They went left,
And yet,
No sadness,
No sense of loss,
I see fulfillment in their eyes,
A happy life,
Next to the ones they love,
Finding purpose,
And sanctuary,
In the way they choose to live,
And I choose to accept.
And so...
Who the fuck am I?
To judge a soul,
Living its life as it wants?
I am nothing special.
We are the same.
YOU ARE READING
Abroad
PoetryThe purpose of this poetry book is one of defiance. Not to others, or anything in particular. It is against the war we wage internally, against ourselves every day. There is no bigger challenge in life than facing your thoughts, your true emotions...
