Master of my Own Demise
If I was he
And in no way me
I would see my way
And own mastery
If I were them
In all their glory
I would sense my place
In failing destiny
But I am I
Quoth Sir Quixote
I can’t claim knowledge
Nor sense, nor foresee
I can only acknowledge
My own demise
My own fell mastery
On occasion of being petulant