Dumb Reason.

What goes on at the other end?

What really goes on here?

I try my hardest to make sense of it all—

close my eyes, sit still,

let luck and the hosts of angels spin me around the block.

________

I wish I could lie—

say I was a natural,

someone who connects with ease

to this world and the one beyond.

Someone specially chosen by the universe,

pulled toward its glory,

even while walking against its course.

______

Instead, I’ve trudged this gruesome path,

chasing questions,

chasing this world and the one afar.

Yet I can’t grasp what clings so easily to others:

Grace. Mercy. Favor.

Those high and lofty gifts.

I’m told they’re not mine to ask for—

I’d be chosen, if I was worthy.

________

Because if I lift my voice to the heavens,

cry about my feelings of injustice,

I get no response.

Some voices are naturally closed off,

displaced from ever getting a reply.

Some minds are wired to stay down,

made too dumb to understand—

even when laid bare on the altar.

______

I’ve stripped my all,

given myself off to become something more.

Why then does it seem

that some are chosen for no good reason,

while the rest are robbed—

of their quest for need, for want, for reason?

Left to spend their lives paying tribute to the chosen.