Jungle creatures

When you talk wistfully
of another life, I wonder
if you know the words
I bite back, the sharp
anger I force down.

Do you think anyone gets
to choose that easy?
That all you have to do
is wish and dream
and life obliges?

You're not even grateful
for what you have;
instead you want
the greener grass
dropped on your plate.

You had your idea
of what your ideal
life would be, and
life handed you
something different.

You whine, you mope,
you blame, you weep,
when you could learn to love
what has been given to you
or work for something better.

You think to inspire pity
in those who still listen
to your long list of woes.
Do you know that instead
you just make us tired?

      Hmm, I'm not sure where that came from. Lord knows that I know people with that attitude. And it does make me tired. I'm not talking about the people who are trying to better themselves, who are trying and have setbacks. More power to them. I'm rooting for them. I'm talking about the people who make no effort to change their lives and then complain because suddenly things aren't better. They play the "if only" game.
      I'm tired of so much negativity. I try to not complain about my life. It's not what I wanted or planned, but here I am. You take what is given, and you do your best. You can take pride in that.
      No one's life is what they wish. All of us have disappointments and failures. Death and darkness stalks us all.
      But we remain.
      In the end we remain.
      Flawed, fragile and fearful, we snarl out into the dark, baring our teeth, jungle creatures in our souls.
      But sometimes a ray of sunlight pierces the gloom, and slowly, our eyes shaded with trembling hands, we walk forward, out of what we have known and what we are, forward to what we can be, and we learn anew the beauty and majesty and mercy of this vast universe.
      We are grateful.
      We are awed.
      We remain.