Thursday, March 5, 2009


When you are closer to the end
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? 

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