Blue Shapes

I have everything.

I own nothing.

In the reality of the world,

this is my only truth,

this is the only thing I know 

to be true.

Everything is available to me.

There are no limits.

I cannot own anything

except my body,

that is the only thing

with me until death,

yet even that is only an assumption.

Why do humans dwell on

owning? When we already

have the World?

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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