Am I …

 

Am I blood and bone,

skin and muscle, or

water, stone

parchment and grit?

 

I ask because I am

no longer sure what

it is that makes me …

me.

 

Am I just a tool for the world,

or lesson in the making, or

do I have viability, and purpose,

more than just a sharp point

with a dull end.

 

Time seems to hold, be unsure,

yet it veers past, I’m left in

it’s wake, turning to vortex  and

taking me I know not where,

down, up, sideways …?

 

Am I still who I believed

myself to be, or a shade,

veiled from all who travel

this road I find myself

walking, I have never

been really sure.

 

Always have I been lone,

a spectator to the thrum,

the ever mental chronicler,

the gatherer of wonder,

now the shopkeeper of

memories.

 

Am I just to be, once here then …

gone, to have spent of life,

of love, of living and to

have garnered nothing but

the idea of a life lived … ?

 

Maybe in the end, all is revealed,

and then we know … what?

Glenn D. Clarke  10/09