Us All

In hunger, my belly aches,
of clawed darkness, I’m afraid,
to forsee what is to come, I’m blind.
—just a reflection of all else.

On damp paper you may sit,
on thorned cushions someone may,
to the vast universe, insignificant.
—just a reflection of all else.

To linger, is in the hands of time,
but as the rest, home waits as death,
merits mortals with same eyes.
—just a reflection of all else.

Fields of wombs
grown on unsteady soil,
the ides of May, harvested
and cast into the fire.
The brand is seared
into the soul,
yet we scoff and sneer,
while we dangle on the branches
hanging on for our dear lives,
of the same burdened trunk;
of the same root that sired
us all.

—just a reflection of all else.