Oh Inheritance

"Oh Inheritance" is a blade of a poem, finely honed on the whetstone of familial resentment and quiet devotion. It dissects the hollow pageantry of birthright with surgical precision, contrasting the

"Oh Inheritance"
They say the eldest holds the golden thread,
Born first, blessed most�"or so it's said.
Funny how some thrones sit gathering dust
While others build kingdoms from simple trust.
There's an art to absence, I've come to learn�"
How to vanish when the tides turn,
How silence becomes its own reply,
How "I'm busy" sounds almost like goodbye.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the margins of the will,
Someone answers calls at 3 AM still,
Someone asks if I've been eating right,
Someone shows up without claiming birthright.
Strange mathematics, this family equation:
Zero effort plus entitlement equals... frustration?
But add one voice�"not mine, but hers�"and suddenly
The absent king remembers his lost sovereignty.
"Thief!" he cries, clutching invisible jewels,
Guarding treasures he never learned to use.
A general who's never seen the field
Outraged that someone else now holds the shield.
I wonder what it's like to own the sun
While never rising once to become one�"
To inherit everything and give back air,
To demand the crown while she braids my hair.
But history, I think, writes its own truth:
Legacy isn't bloodline�"it's the proof.
Not who arrived first at destiny's door,
But who stayed to sweep the floor.