The Whole Truth

I smile, quite patronisingly
And pityingly,
When people say that they are not asking
For the world.

Oh you're not asking for the world?
Good for you.
Please do tell me which specific part of the world it is
That you would like,
And I'll parcel that up nicely for you.
You probably want it gift-wrapped too,
Don't you?

Because, you see,
I am asking for the world.
And I am not going to apologise
For that.

I want to run my fingertips through
The tips of damp grass;
And I want to write words
At once eloquent and crass.

I want to cup cold, clear water
Forever in my hands;
And I want to travel the seas
In search of someone who understands.

I want to scale cliff faces,
Getting grit beneath my nails;
And I want to craft stories for people,
Capture them with my tales.

I want my breath to be stolen
By love and by the wind;
And I want it to be known that I've done good,
But also that I've sinned.

I want to dance on rainy nights
Of heartbreak and thunder;
And I want to laugh myself to sleep
As we all are sunk asunder.

I want to shake the hand
Of everyone I meet;
And I want to understand their language,
To feel their hearts beat.

I want to discover every word,
Every sight and every sound;
And I want to find every wonder
That exists on this Earth to be found.

Are you getting the point yet?
Or are you too preoccupied
Unwrapping that little, specific piece of world
That I prepared for you earlier?

You can be as falsely humble
And laughably sacrificial
As you like.
You can claim to be contended
With the little corner of the world
You have fashioned into a home.
I know it's only because,
You are too much of a coward to roam
Beyond that gift-wrapped piece.

I will never stop asking for the world.

And you should be asking for the world
Every day until you die,
And anyone who tells you that it's wrong or selfish,
Well they are telling you a lie.

And a very terrible one at that.