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I.
What am I? A dying ember or a man gone lame? What am I? A player or a game? Do I hold a title or a name?
At the beginning of my journey I was just like a phoetus, broken, ravaged, scarred, reliefless, do we live in freedom? Or does death release us?
Years later still full of sorrow, regretting every present, past, fearing tomorrow, what will life give to me? Tighten my chains? Or set me free?
One day at a time, studiously in life's never ending climb, what's that upon the ledge? A lover waiting to make her pledge?
Fooled and deceived I take a stumble, with my bleeding fingers I fumble, talk of letting go I mumble, within my gut a hatred rumbles.
Time and time again In trip, each time getting closer to that ledge, one day I'll climb the edge, ready for my lover's waiting pledge.
I have my foothold she gives her heart, for in life we must play our part, barely a man the next leg began, a new partner with which I ran.
What am I? A lover or a mother? A father or a martyr? Whoever knows? I can't stop, now that I have her, my rose.
Who are we? Strivers or survivors? A couple or a muddle? It rains on us, but leaves no puddle, for warmth, together we huddle.
Many years later on the quest, we spawn more at our own behest, they cling onto us at the chest, almost ready to embody us best.
Who am I? A saviour or a thief? A tree or a leaf? Am I living my own wife? Or simply a foothold for my children to behold?
Almost at the top I'm going grey, ready to reach heaven with all debts paid, my children are grown and have away flown, I'm ready to go, take me home.
Who am I? A man like any other, a father, son and brother, I am a person not a lover, a man, not a flame to fan.
What am I? I no longer ask... It matters not as I'm burned to ash.
