When You Haven’t Even Seen Me Fly

Who am I to judge your decades,
Who am I to avoid your gaze, hooded by those wrinkled shades of age,
Who am I to feel betrayal, when amnesia takes you out for a spin,
Who am I to take pity on your meanderings, to obscure pitfalls for your "greater good."
But who are you to slacken your pace, when you still have time to build an empire,
Who are you to elope with death, when aren't you lucky you can still breathe in,
Who are you to write your will, when you could've, no, should've written a birthday card,
And who are you to deem the grave your purpose, when you haven’t even seen me fly.

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