Whose

Once 'I' has been declared, whose energy
was focused to invoke this aim? Whose lips
then say, I am, I want, I will, I see...?
If you say 'mine', whose hand is it that whips

you back to shape after you fail to do
those things you said you would. Whose lies bring shame
to who? Whose apathies and sloth turn you
from joys which are your due? Who is to blame

for evil hands, and who works hard to raise
who, from the undynamic dead? No one,
untaught as is, can separate the grays
that mask identity. A search not done,

insures one's brain believes its one among
the many but ultimately that's dung.
Fingers on the same hand describes our state.
Whose arm it is, no mind can explicate.