The Metaphysical Question

Am i a bunch of memory

And emotion?

Am i a product 

Shaped by the force

Of environmental circumstance?

I have walked a long way

Down a linear path

Like a horse with blinkered vision

Suppose i were to do an about turn

And retrace my steps

Where would i end up?

Would i creep back into my mother’s womb -

A blank slate to be written on;

A malleable lump of clay

In the hands of tyrannical monsters?

Or would i sink beneath human wisdom

Like an archimedean object

Safe from the screaming winds of change?

Would i shed this identity

Which has dogged me all my life

And begin to rewrite the purpose

Of not just my

But life in general?