I know what it is to lose something dear,
to have loved and cherished a thing
and still not call it my own.
I know what it is to suffer, if only for a little bit,
to suffer for want of something and never obtain it,
or worse yet, obtain it, and then suffer its insufficiency.
I know what it is to long for a place and never get there
Or worst yet, get there, and feel my loneliness still.
I know what it is to achieve a goal, to wear the gold medal,
to miss the podium entirely.
I've become an expert in the patterns of myself;
Of habit and vice, of routine and slumber.
For every high, its low. For every gain, its loss.
And even though
I am passing away from this earth
It is a freedom to be found out for the imposter I am;
to be found wanting for more,
to be exposed for sadness deep within,
And at the very end of it all
still believe the best is yet to come.