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.