I lay in bed, forehead aflame
in tune with the fireplace.
Leafing through abandoned novels
suppressing phlegm laden cries.
I’m sick.

I’m sick because of the cells battling in my body,
trying to wrest control of a young man’s body away
from the other.

I’m sick because the doors are shut in fear,
tossing aside the branch for the trigger.

I’m sick because we build bullets
instead of schools.

I’m sick because we are afraid that which we cannot understand
and hate those who can.

I’m sick because we are the favored children
who neglect the unfortunate.

I’m sick because we forget to smile upon those
who smile upon us.

I’m sick because we’d rather build the walls higher
rather than tear them down.

I’m sick because we prevent others
from calling the Earth upon which we stand “home”.

I’m sick because I am an old man
and I have laid in bed too long
neglecting to raise my fist against that which sickens me.

I’m sick because I was prepared to die
the day I was born,
dwelling upon what
was coming closer every second
but ignoring what laid ahead.