Curse of life

Poem

The day I was born I was diagnosed with a disease, a curse

Some said it would bring only pain and misery,

and others said it would get better with time.

There were a few who called it a gift,

they believed it humbles them,

and were plenty sure that it will go away.

A hundred winters have passed.

My companions with the same disease have long been freed,

but I remain and persist against my own wishes.

I lie on the blood soaked earth far from home,

with a knife touching my spine.

Countless comrades have fallen, but I still breath.

I stand at the precipice of mans evolution to godhood.