What Matters In The End

Oh why do I feel so alone in this world? Even genies have a master Who caresses their magic lamp sometimes; And gods have their universes whirled Sculptors have their plaster Even artists have their muse Could I form myself into any venue- Play well at being my own ruse? I couldn't die any faster Even for me, there must be some use? Otherwise I'm only taking up space Killing time, making up an excuse I only want to clothe myself with grace Not feel I'm strung out by the past; When sins and omissions come home to roost Just let me have that look of peace on my face.