Reflections

I wonder if looking up and into eyes gives away my meaning, As if I can be defined by the window of my gaze, Or if it is mere reflections of others that crafts assumptions, The fact that emotions are peerless though everyone carries strife, Most of us are mortally wounded, Gripping at handrails shuffling into a shallow grave, Ironically, it's our lives that are killing us so dreadfully quick, The woes and worries of a million or a billion others all on our shoulders, We fight and struggle and push onward, And when we complain a shadow whispers not to cry so loudly, Though we bleed tears of disillusionment with the state of all things, We are not alone enough to withstand this battle, And togetherness is far more important than it seems, Yet we avoid one another and ignore the pleas for help, Despite familiarity with their direness, Simply because we assume ourselves to have seen greater troubles, But no one is as troubled as we are as a whole, No one person, regardless of ego can stand above all else, And call themselves the very nature of melancholy, As if the rest of humanity isn't just as pitifully sad, Perhaps quite often the fleeting moments of happiness are enough to keep many afloat, But it is the choices we make with the portrayal of joy that affect how the world views us, And therein how we, as individuals can view ourselves.