An Orphan

What once manifests itself as judgment and desires,
Placates the mind in its ever search for congruency.
When reality is gained, retribution befalls it,
And displacement is the coveted acceptance.

If the mind is a prison, then who else to rely better on?
An obsession with survival clouds the ability to trust.
Inheritance does not fall short of a name, or a past,
But looking for answers yields only flat conclusions.

The aging face hardens when reflecting on its image,
The ponder is no longer of who made it.
In actuality it never crossed the mind-
Nothing is what made me this way.

The nothing is a beautiful emptiness, though,
A small spark can become an uninterrupted explosion.
The freedom to create anew, design with a concrete plan,
To start a legacy bold enough to outlive the lost.

I am thankful that I was told to be polite,
When I am served hardship, I finish my plate.
But I’m not a damned fool to ask for seconds,
… I just have to pretend I’m not that hungry…