Who am I then

The chords bleed into one another,
out of tune, too soon, too late,
and my mind can’t quite receive them.
Everything slips away,
like water vanishing down a drain.

Is there any road left for me?
It feels as though I’ve already arrived.
And if I gain everything, then what?
Who am I then,
what thoughts will fill the silence?
Perhaps I’m not ready to be finished.
Yet here I stand.

The journey was long, brutally so,
it almost broke my faith,
almost unmade my mind.
And now, somehow,
I hover at the edge of the end.

There is a strange eternity of joy here,
a stillness that says: this is it.

And yet, my pockets echo with absence.

Maybe now it’s time to live it all,
to play, to unravel,
to stir the waters just to see them move.

(written: 8-4-2025)