Longing 3/17/15

My childhood was spent with lonely nights
Trying to fill them with fantasy and dream
Constantly gazing out onto starlit skies wishing
For justice, importance, death, change, good
Waiting and hoping for them to be granted
Wanting to escape from that which I suffer

From those that cause onto me suffering
Birthing me and leaving me in the blackened night
Able to have their wishes granted
And saying that I was part of that dream
Similarly, that whatever I hope for or become will be good
But must I share that same wish?

What are to become of my own wishes?
Who decides that some are doomed to suffer
And bestows those that are labeled “good”?
Is it wrong for me to not want to fall into the night
And have come to light my dreams
Instead of the endless begging of their granting?

What I have asked was not was has been granted
Yet it seems to do nothing for me to wish
What makes theirs better than any of my dreams
And their choice for me to suffer
For the waking of each night
To know that I’ll never be good?

Why is there a judge of good?
Seeing that “good” and “evil” are granted
One for the day and one the for endless night
I, not entitled to my condemned wishes,
must have been born to suffer
Since I’m the product of someone else’s dream

Shouldn’t I then blame that dream?
Curse the reality in which I can never live up to be “good”
What am I then to suffer
For the life they have been granting
But that, by me, which has never for once wished
For existence has become an endless cycle of parasitic nights

Sadly, this suffering cannot see its night.
For such usage of goods do not materialize dreams
So, fueled by a core of hate and despair, I futilely await my wishes’ granting.