Now, Who Was I Really?

Can I finally risk a moment now to stop and ask, or am I still just in far too much of a hurry

What was my story again? just text me the take away

Did I ever even try to know? yeah, right…so why would anyone else even ask

Was I swimming hard but just holding my small place there, close to the bank

What were those unspecified goals towards which I moved with ever increasing speed

Did my influence end simply when I finally ceased spending more than I was earning

What slowly diminishing rippling effects spread out in that wake I long ago stopped making

Who is there to answer for me, if even I did not try and question it at all for myself

Who was I but some uncle who died long ago, barely known, leaving them nothing

And who were they, but minor characters, overlooked in my unscripted personal melodrama

Do I abide in a saccharine heavenly glory, or have I been sent to their tragicomic hell, or?

Where are those missing final statements from the boring ledger of my passing life

Who was I really, if I myself could not be bothered to take the time to stop and ask

Was I that gray and sick old man they turned from, who could not even sit up in bed

Maybe the smiling, hurried so-called professional who could not stay too long

Then again, there was that dripping boy who so reminded them of his grandfather

Who was that guy I looked at in the pictures someone else took when I happened to be there

What were those things that I found so important back then that they kept me so long in a blur

Was I the one always laughing too loudly, way too often, at the expense of others

Did I really spend a third of my life in bed and fully another fifth in front of a TV

Why cant I find all that stuff I held as the very dearest to life, not really too long ago

Where are those little darlings that made even all that work seem so worthwhile

Where has that woman gone I loved so much that it could make me cry

Is it true there really is no way, looking back from now, to find out who I was then

Why does the value of my pleasures seem to have drained through my hands like so much water

How come I don’t remember all the holidays I spent so much time looking forward to

How can I fail to be able to reckon up the present value of my lifelong reckless habits

Who was I and did that answer already disappear many years ago, somewhere in my clueless past

Does it all really dribble out to nothing at an empty dead end, just past nowhere

Then again, there certainly were moments, though I have sewn no meaningful tapestry

Can’t I reach back now to enjoy the worth of all the things I always did - for the future

Now can I ask for some of that that time I was always working so hard to try and save