Shortly after I graduated from college, I decided that I wanted to make a difference in this world. so, I moved to Baltimore, into the city, to be involved with programs for helping the economically disadvantaged.
In the passing years, I've been held up at gun point. And I've been ripped-off by people that I'm trying to help.
If I had made some kind of impact in my neighborhood, I may be willing to say that it's all worth it. However, day in and day out, nothing seems to change.
Not only have I not made an impact in my neighborhood, I'm beginning to see it impact me. I'm less patient with those I'm helping and more distrustful of anything they say.
There's been days in which I started to think that they deserved to be where they are.
So, I held up the mirror and wrote the following.
I mourn the passing of my youth
As it gasps for the last breath
Of its quixotic dream.
No single self-evident truth
Survived this untimely death,
Without a trace downstream.
The promises of tomorrow
No longer have their allure
No longer fuel my hope.
Broken lives, broken hearts, and sorrow
A field of dreams with manure
Made me this misanthrope.