by Alan Steinle
In this poem, the “I” and “we” do not refer to anyone in particular. This poem imitates the structure of the poem “My Heart and I” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
We’re tired of life, the world and I.
While gazing through a window screen,
we find that earth is not that green.
How many ages passed us by?
How many threads of life were spun?
We cannot say we’ve just begun,
and we are tired, the world and I.
We’re tired of heat, the world and I.
Exhausted by the lengthy drought,
we worry as we look about
and up into the troubled sky.
The river’s low, and crops turn brown
as scorching sunlight brings them down,
and we are tired, the world and I.
We’re tired of masks, the world and I.
We’re weary of the smoke-filled room
where we devised our future doom.
When truth was hard, we chose to lie,
and we became mere hypocrites
who posed as pundits and as wits,
and we are tired, the world and I.
We’re tired of guilt, the world and I.
We keep on throwing all the blame
at other folks who do the same.
Like pigs that do not leave their sty,
we splash the muck on one and all
while rolling in our filthy stall,
and we are tired, the world and I.
We’re tired of fear, the world and I.
We hide our schemes, so none will find
that darkness dwells within our mind,
for we would live while others die.
We only care for number one,
though life alone would not be fun,
and we are tired, the world and I.
We’re tired of lack, the world and I.
We cannot see that we need love,
but think we need so many of
the things that only loans can buy.
We seldom give, but often lend,
and this may cause the age to end,
and we are tired, the world and I.
We needn’t tire, the world and I.
Forgiveness can release the past,
so all can live in peace at last.
Our hopeless tears and weary sigh
can turn to joy and gratitude,
and all that lives can be renewed.
We can be healed, the world and I.