So far from the ending
I find myself.
A future memory,
Of building my life.
Building it to a mold of another.
But on the inside
The beams of my heart break.
I expect to give so much,
With such little dignity,
Such an unwilling body.
Perhaps my cynicism corrodes
My otherwise cogent constitution.
Will these rafters collapse?
Will everything I've worked
to become, be destroyed
under the demolition
of my character?
I suppose the answer
only comes with the
Great mystery of choice
And circumstance.
Something only the greatest God
Can partially influence.
