Small Lives
It is hard for people like me
Who have bigger hearts than most
To live such small lives.
It is hard for people like me
Who have such large dreams
Never see them come to pass.
It is hard for people like me
Who have such tirelessly thoughtful minds
To be disdained for the very thoughts we think.
It is hard for people like me
Who have more love in our little fingers
Than a thousand hearts who don't care that they don't care.
Why must it be so, this deadly truth?
This common fact,
This observation made on a daily basis
By those of us with all of the above and yet none of the above.
That is, the dreams that are fulfilled,
The grand thoughts brought to fruition,
The love we've given, returned
The hearts so filled with the yearning for life, given a chance to live?
Why must we live destitute
In a world full of treasure chests spilling over with love?
Why must we dance in our dreams on feet floating on air
And wake holding nothing in our empty arms?
Why must we build the castles in our minds
Only to see them crumbled by reality's hands?
Why must our hearts wither and die, deprived of the thing
That keeps them alive more than blood?
Why must we live like this, helplessly watching
The big tidal waves sweep our dreams off the shore
Why must we live these small, small lives
When there could be so much, much more?
©By Voo
April 2020
