WHO I AM

Who I am, is who I seem, you must understand:

there are no shunted windows neigh.

Note my voice, for 'twill it speak with the sound of one thousand,

but they are all really mine.

A million scars on stone and paper by my hand,

Each curve neither thick nor fine.

I could speak, tens, of billions, of arguments and thoughts and instinct,

All opinions, true, but they are also true.

I see the world, a disaster but a haven, where life will flourish and extinct,

that pain is what bring joy into me and you.

I work to advance my mind, the world and it's people, and the future,

A losing battle only victoried once I am gone.

But there is still hope that I see, despite my growing sensed unease,

that someday, my war against war will finally be won.

There will be a day,

Where my mind begins to fray,

My sense of logic and common knowledge fail.

My eyes now bleak,

My esire no longer seek,

Either knowledge, nor passion, nor tale.

But when that day arrives,

So too shall I surmise,

That my soul has been replaced

By a quite familiar face,

He will never be me, but not a sham.

And thus whoever takes my place,

regenerated by the had of fate,

will never forget me, when I first said WHO I AM.