I was a babe
then a child
later a boy
and now a man
twenty seven years
have I seen post hence
and yet in summation
in the accounting of my life
I have not but a thing
no markers of my path
I have lived the days
savored the nights
walked the miles
and stood the years
but what a waste
for I have not
left any traces
in the tally of my tales
no place to call a home
no lady to call a wife
no children to call my own
no career to rant and rave
no friends to laugh in turn
no dreams to carry on
no pictures of places I've known
no stories of things I've done
no deeds dismal or great
no proof of that I am
twenty seven years
have come and gone
what of the time
that I have left
at the crossroads
am I now
where should I go
what more to do
should I scurry
back into line
living the life
of mundane means
even though its the same
as was before
with results
in the likeness of yesteryears
or should I strive
to break the mold
to pursue this dream
that I still hold
to risk all
and give the rest
to stand tall
and be the best
or perhaps to shun
this wicked world
to sever all ties
and break all oaths
why should I give
and give and give
when all I get
is less and less
but the last of choices
the breakings of faiths
is to welcome oblivion
drowning in its touch
to sleep the sleep of sleeps
to lay down this mantle of years
to slumber in endless deeps
to slit this vein of tears
at a crossroads am I
after twenty seven
long long years
where should I go
what more to do
with the tally of my years.
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7 years ago
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