What We Leave

Feeling guilty in the morning light
Dreams in the starry starry night
Disturbing, strange and surreal
Not sure about the shame I feel

Artistic types are prone to depression
The pain that’s subject to repression
Some fear perhaps that they have sinned
Some fade like candles in the wind…

Never done much with my life,
Have no children.  Have no wife
I’m a solitary figure in a World so vast
And time seems to be passing fast.

I’ve never understood quite how
To find someone and settle down
I am a host to my DNA
But I have never found a way

To fulfil nature’s one desire
I’m stuck then in this strange strange mire.
I suppose we live out who we are
Some go nowhere; some go far

Of time I will not try to kill:
What alone I can fulfil
I’ll try to grasp a destiny:
What I’ll leave as a legacy.

I’ll try not to be hesitant, disorganized, confused
I do not want to be accused
Of causing trouble, causing strife.
I’ll try to make something of life.

Some have children, on the other hand
Some know not or do not understand
How to spread their DNA,
In life each only knows one way

And nature weeds out those of us
Who live alone and are not fussed
Or perhaps it is:  We just can’t be:
We cannot start a family.

[Unable to have kids or to marry
I’ll find my niche and will not tarry
That’s for me and well I know it:
One day I will be a dead poet.]