Not finished, but a part of me just gone,
left behind in many places
pieces scattered, broken traces
of who I was, a beginning of an end
as I dream of life foregone.
I am not finished but sometimes
I can see far in the distance
how my life in just one instance
disappears around the bend.
And the game in the last quarter
will be played until it defines
if all the traces left behind
either saves me or condemn.