Mother

Some days, I look over at my mother -
Grinning to me upon her completion of simple household chores,
And I am afraid.

I'm afraid because of the simplicity of the life she leads.
I'm afraid because of the contentment she displays despite everything else that isn't going all right.
I'm afraid because I know that I will never be content with simplicity.
I will never be satisfied with what she has.

For I know I have desires far greater than I can conjuncture,
Dreams so far-fetched, I can barely reach
So I am afraid as she is my mother,

Because, how could it be?
That we are such largely, separate and different beings.