Some nights I distill the foundations of my will,

Tracing the depths of this yearning to be of use.

I ask if it predates upon the inequities of circumstance,
Feeding upon a marrow of injustice.
Or if it is the revelation of a thread that binds us all
in a fabric beyond the dictates of thought.
And if these years unravel towards the truth of it,
It moves past fallacies and false dichotomies, There is no giver and receiver.
For it is through acts of contribution,
Through the mirror of interdependence,
That I have peered beneath this skin,
Into a world I can sincerely embrace.
Where sorrow is fertile soil for seeds of joy.