Woe is me

Woe to those who
dwell on the past
while the moment
recreates history

Woe to those who
gaze into the far horizons of time
while the next breath
is of no guarantee

Woe to those who
are asked to speak
while their silence
was their speech

Woe to those who
wish to speak
while the tongue
is barrier to speech

Woe to those who
have not suffered
and thus do not know
the value of trouble

Woe to those who
speak of trouble
while to be human
is to be able to suffer

Woe to those who
lust for the transient flesh
of bodies that possess
an eternal soul, a universe

Woe to those who
claim to own the body
when one has no authority
over a heart that beats regularly

Woe to those who
walk in arrogance
while the body
is a vehicle for feces

Woe to those who
seek to accumulate
while living in a liminality
between life and death

Woe to those who
curse death
while relishing life
which they didn’t create

Woe to those who
look down upon that weep
when the tears that drop
is for you and me

Woe to those who
cry and shed tears
only to be pitied by walls
that echo the sobs and whistles

Woe to those who
have lost hope
when the next second
is of uncertainty

Woe to those who
cultivate hope
centered around a person
overlooking depravity

Woe to those who
do not forgive
when every human being
is subject to mercy

Woe to those who
claim to have forgiven
while forgiveness lies
in the act of forgetting

Woe to those who
speak of love
when speaking itself
hinders its prosperity

Woe to those who
moan about being lonely
when looking at their self
is their love story

Woe to those who
are led only by their curiosity
turning souls into
objects of scrutiny

Woe to those who
are indifferent to the diversity
and the miraculous traits
inherent in nature and humanity

Woe to those who
search and look afar
while failing to see
what’s afar is hidden in you and me

Woe to those who
distinguish you and me
yet do not see
the oneness of the path we call destiny

Woe to those who
claim to be part of a humanity
that speaks of progress and ascent
while frantically descending to its end

Woe to those who
are foolish enough to write
talking about ‘they’
while to their self they are blind

Woe is me
who writes this poem
speaking of woes
while the heedless person I am.