I didn’t mean to change the world

I didn’t mean to change the world,
But I might have. In some
Small way every word
I speak, write, read or hear changes
Reality around me.
Or changes me.

I said something wrong, or,
Made you angry with a word. Or,
I made you happier than you’d ever been,
Exuberant like an exultant breath of praise rising,
With an amiable thought or deed.

I shiver, for every thought I have or
Deed I do could, or already has,
Refashioned experience here.
What could’ve been said or done differently?
Would it change where I am, or who I am?
Where you are? What you think of me?

If I rise the day is changed;
If I remain in bed: wholly different.
If I diminish you, it might be the
last you have to do with me.
If I lift you up, sharing our burdened hearts
and hands: forever friends.

I wonder:  Can a breath here, now, begin the
Inevitable underpinnings of a future war? A
Fall into absolute privation? I’ll act, and hope for a
Future Grace instead.

The entirety of my forebears’
Words spoken, actions taken have ultimately
Resulted in a singularity: Me.
My further maneuvers, scheming, and deeds
Are rife with transformations.

My progenitors didn’t mean to change the world,
But they did.
I didn’t mean to change the world,
But it’s too late.
I have.