WHY ME, GOD?

brent-kincaid Poems

I’m no longer a resident Of self-pity City And I most certainly Am not the mayor I’ve given up crying And eighty sixed whining “It’s just not fair!” Now I don’t ask “Why me, God?” I realized I was wishing another Poor somebody suffered my fate. Who? My sister, father, mother? When did I gain so much clout That I deserve a better fate That moves me up so high And makes the rest second rate? I’m no longer a resident Of self-pity City And I most certainly Am not the mayor I’ve given up crying And eighty sixed whining “It’s just not fair!” I had to take stock of life And realize I have what I need. Anything else is at least excess But even more likely it’s greed. I was looking around to see What my neighbors had got And running to my toy box Moaning of what I had not. Did I look around me and see The many who had so little? Not a crust of bread or a home Where they could sit and whittle? So many had no toys at all They were grateful for a bed; A place where they could be safe When they lay down their head. I’m no longer a resident Of self-pity City And I most certainly Am not the mayor I’ve given up crying And eighty sixed whining “It’s just not fair!” Finally I awoke and saw the truth, How much I need to be grateful for; For breathing and resting and joy A roof, for walls and a floor. And a place to call my own home When so many don’t have one. The day I counted my blessings Was when a good life was begun. I’m no longer a resident Of self-pity City And I most certainly Am not the mayor I’ve given up crying And eighty sixed whining “It’s just not fair!”