To have infinite capacity for love, and loss,
To wear your crown with grace, and still carry your cross,
Irreplaceably vital, unmistakably dross
That’s what it means to be human
To need to know what lies beyond the blue deep
To covet every secret that our planet would keep
To be humbled by nature, and utter nary a peep
That’s what it means to be human
To find reason to live, against harsh odds
To draw wisdom from words of ancestors and gods
To put one leg, before the other, never ceasing the trod
That’s what it means to be human
To roll the dice, lose, and still play again
To find purpose in pleasure; even more so in pain
To be acquainted with grief, to make sorrow your name
That’s what it means to be human
To be loved without boundary, and return the favour
To count each man your friend, and each woman your neighbour
To look up in spite of life, to seize its richness and savour
That’s what it means to be human
A poem by Rhyon Whittle.