No,
Life isn’t fair.
Not the way
our immature parents said it:
as an excuse
for the weary cowardice
of their injustice.
But the way
the Earth cares not
for our personal genius
and noble aspirations.
She does not prepare ideal soil
for every seed.
Chance may make yours
an orchid
in ground best suited
for dandelions.
She is set to strange tasks
more astonishing
than anything our teeny minds
can dream.
Evolution did not select
for a single human
but for humanity
(for We not Me),
for fractal webs and eons
extending vast beyond our sanity,
excavating deep into infinity.
Many of us will not thrive
during this age.
We weren’t built for this moment –
our best hope is “make do”
and “get by”.
We were born for times
long vanished into night
or yet to dawn.
But still, we are here,
assigned hands and eyes
and straining voices
that suffer to serve.
She whispers yet again:
It’s not you,
it’s We.
It’s
not
personal.
© S. Rinderle, January 2025
