I chance upon
A much-beloved song
From long ago.
A flood of memories,
Youth, hope, wonder,
Pervasive self-loathing.
Dreams of being loved,
Someday, by someone,
In a different time.
Without any fanfare,
He’s not there anymore,
For no apparent reason.
Divergent lives,
Disparate experiences,
Paths that do not meet
But for chance.
He fails to see
The blatant inconsistencies
In what he says he believes
And what he does,
A detail which is completely
Lost on him,
As is much of his life,
A swirling mess of
Contradictions and dissonance,
Unreconciled,
Unwhole,
Unpleasant.
In the middle of
All the noise,
The fake kisses and
Fabricated mirth,
He asks himself
What it’s all about,
This superficial chaos
Punctuated by
Occasional meaning
Mostly ignored.
I guess I expected
Something else but,
As usual,
The same thing happened
And I’m left feeling
The same inadequacies,
Which is what I’ve
Always done.
The myth of the
Self-made man:
He rises from poverty and,
By sheer will,
Determination, and
Hard work becomes
Wildly successful,
All on his own.
The truth behind
The myth: The man
Was born into a
Society that allows
For success and provides
The governmental framework,
Social conditions,
Public services, and
Physical infrastructure
That permit someone
Like him to
Enjoy great fortune.
Another often-overlooked
Detail: The staggeringly
Monumental chance that the
Man is born in the right
Place and at the right time
To prosper.
Countless equally
Hard-working people don’t
Get the same breaks,
Don’t arrive at
The ideal time.
It could just as
Easily been him
Struggling for a lifetime.
I used to let everyone
Else’s voice supersede mine,
Lent more credence to
What they said than
Anything I might have
Been thinking, and it
Paid off in an overwhelming
Windfall of misery and
Inauthenticity, having left
The real me languishing by
The wayside while I plodded
Ahead wearing someone else’s
Persona and venturing further
Away from the real me,
An indistinct whisper in
A cacophonous gale,
Alone and unindividuated.
As he sits alone at
The kitchen table,
In the middle of the night,
Under the unsettling glare
Of a single light bulb,
He wonders when he might
Get some sleep,
Whether the voices will
Ever quiet down enough
To let him rest.
Somewhere deep inside
He knows the answer but
It is hidden in a choking
Bramble of avoidance.
Innocent people die
Because business
Executives desire
The extra money to
Build giant
Swimming pools in
The desert.
Human beings live,
Thrive, enjoy life,
Because the business
Executives care
For something
More than
Personal gain.
