I Hold This World

I hold this world,

in my palm accountable.

As much as I am at fault,

I am still just as human as when I woke up.

Made from this unswerving earth,

I pass the blame,

my species trait.

I say, this soil

which I will become,

formed my first breath;
a constant presence in my life.

I hold steady to a rotating body

as the wells of the ocean

splash and spill,
fulfilling my feeling of being,

waiting for what I am owed.

I am this world.

As much as others think
it was made for them,

it needs neither of us.

Perhaps,

I am only a temporary inhabitant,

meant to spend 70 years spinning;

trudging through give and take,

turning in a milky galaxy,
ignoring what’s on my plate,
forced to question myself

as more than just an ape.

Or, to keep humanity alive,

I lie to myself and say,

"The sun rises for me,
I’ll go about my day

as if all is summer.”

I am held trembling

in the dry hands of the world,

accountable. 

No more important than a snowflake

falling on the last day of winter.

I am only a lonely creature

born on a rock of circumstance,

clever enough to daydream,

too dumb to wake up.