Every Man Poem by John Yaws

I ask myself more often-
With every passing year...
The point of my existence,
What am I doing here?

Nobody ever thought that I
Would live past twenty-five...
That was over twenty years ago
And, somehow I survive.

Survival isn't living
I guess it's marking time-
I try to ease another's load-
By giving them my rhyme.

People often ask me-
What's true? and what is not?
To be completely honest-
I guess that I forgot...

I've lived a lot of what I write-
I've known a lot of pain-
I've known the feel of hunger-
And sleeping in the rain.

I've seen my share of country-
Experienced some grief.
I know a bit of heartache-
And bitter unbelief...

If I must be identified...
Then this is where I stand-
I am your conscience, and your guide:
I guess I'm "Every Man".