I am unusual.
I give no love unto one alone.
I father no children.
I lust not after women that could be mine.
Yet I love the most.
I love the children left alone, without a name.
I love the women who lack the validation they seek.
I love the man who sits in his house, alone, without a friend.
I love the world—why bind oneself unto one?
One name? One city?
How shall I live and breathe, while others perish?
I will traverse the earth and give them breath.
I will go unto the unloved, and love them.
I will take no wife.
I will father no children.
For the world is my child,
and I shall have a parental duty to all.
I will have no house.
I will have no gold.
For my dwelling is the streets, the trees,
and the grass beneath my feet.
For the gold that men covet
is not my treasure.
I was made upon this earth to love.
This alone do I need.
This is no thing to pity.
This is no thing to marvel at.
It is a father keeping his charge,
nurturing his children.
And who shall say it is small,
if the world itself is my care?