Not Ready to Go

Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go. Only now do some things become clear—how pointless so much of it truly was. I let life pass me by, lost in drink, parties, and gluttony. What can I say? None of it mattered to me. Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go. I meant to travel to distant lands, to prove to my mates that I was a great adventurer. But I always lacked the courage—and the money. Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go. I lied and I cheated; I often deeply disappointed my friends because I wasn’t entirely honest with them. Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go. Does it make any sense now to reflect on how I should have lived? It’s too late—that’s just how it is. Oh, if only I had a little more time. Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go. My gaze drops to the ground; fear and anger well up—but now it is too late for the path that life once suggested. Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go. Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go. Now I stand here at the end of my time, and I am not ready to go.