Than you are to the beginning
Time seems to race by laughing,
Oblivious to an expiration date.
Hazy memories, jumbled thoughts,
All reeling in that giant playground
Covered by a receding hairline, the
Color reminiscent of a winter sky.
The questions, always the questions,
Breaking through to prod me to
A bleak distraction, not allowing for
A return to a spiritless conventionality.
Who am I? There is a history, but
What of my [past? Is it tied to my future?
Am I really the man who sits here? Or,
Am I acting out some Thespian drama,
Set on a stage made of Jello, with the same
Stability and security but lacking taste?
I stumble along, pondering the issues but,
In the end, does it really, REALLY matter?