All my life, I have fought a seemingly unending battle to believe in myself. I have not yet succeeded. Wars I have fought and battles I have lost. I cannot begin to think about all the lives I have wasted over the ages. I stand staring down at my empty hands and contemplate action but nothing ever comes of it. I feel the atrophy of my legs worn down by years standing idly by as I watch whole species disappear under my eyes. Words are whispered among the winds that speak of peace, that speak of life just beyond the horizon, but there is no substance to them. Wishful thinking is a fool's game and I don't play that game anymore. I choke back down emotions meant to make me feel that I am part of something bigger, part of something at all. I don't want to feel that, like I said...wishful thinking. Sadness permeates the fabric of my being as I listen to the children cry. It doesn't matter what part of the world they live in or what they believe, their pain is acute and it stabs like a knife. If only I could believe a little bit more. If only I could see just a little bit farther. Inside, I am confined by a compilation of religions, cultures and creeds all vying for dominance and through the selfishness of all, I am doomed to stand rooted where I am. I do not like it here. There is too much blood on my hands and the stain goes deep, yet what parts of me take responsibility for my actions. What part of me stands up to declare that enough is enough? Silence is the only response. I watch the gently wave of the leaves as another night approaches. At least there is still beauty in the world...beauty in the world. After all this time, the words still brings a peaceful easy feeling to my tired heart. How long though do I wonder will life sustain a being bent on destruction? Will I ever find the courage to bring peace to the ragged part of me? A tear falls down my cheek as I look up to the stars; so much beauty in the universe, so little beauty in me.