I think about what’s between the world and me often,
That poem, and how I will never fully understand the alienation
Of the displaced man, or the disenfranchised.
But, how far have we come?
I don’t know.
The history of man has painted the world a grey shade:
Hunger and strife is no longer saved for certain people, sure,
But, there are guidelines hardship adheres to,
And the shade of color still appears pertinent.
I am displaced, removed.
However, I live without worry.
I will never completely be there,
And that’s a blessing,
To never know the details of such strange fruit swinging in the stifling,
Sultry air, or the sounds of bombs singing in my neighborhood.
But, to know that man,
After seeing what history has drawn for us,
Can still live this way, brings a different horror to light:
That this will never end.