The pieces that I’m breaking into…

The pieces that I’m breaking into constitute a pattern surely some will recognize:
Of withheld truth more than the more alluring, active or constructive sorts of lies

Then, there’s regret for actions taken – mostly those embarked on without thought –
To know what I’m becoming isn’t what I would have been or surely ever ought

But much like fighting gravity, I struggle vainly against character and fate;
I fight the fight, but tire – seeing little good, and surely nothing great

For age despises us, and turns us slowly into caricatures and fools,
Revealing all the flaws we hid when covered up in youth among our varied schools

I sit here with so many words, so many echoes dancing in my head –
To know, like Willy Loman, that I’m worth much less alive than I am dead;
And that, whatever comes to me, I face a time that most of us would dread,
And that I cannot fix it solving puzzles, or by words I might
Have said

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