After fifteen years of not knowing why I was here,

followed by fifteen years of not caring why I was here,

and then fifteen years of allowing others to tell me why I was here,

I eventually spent fifteen more years determining where I had been.

 

Once that was done I spent the next fifteen years,

figuring out why I had gone there.

Of my latter years, which have only been four,

I am now wondering where, in the end, Someone will be sending me.

The only saving grace I have,

is to spend the remaining eleven years of this final epoch,

by – well – saving grace.

 

It is too late for saving face.