What shall I do

What shall I do
With the months and weeks and days
How shall I get along
When my purpose becomes a haze

The cigarette burns quickly
In a world without a clock
So few measures, so few records
Favoring action more than talk

The American inside me aches
For worth in quantitative terms
But numbers aren’t as sexy here
As one eventually learns

What things should I be doing
Often I’m unsure of my course
Suspended in ambiguity
Hard to move despite my force

Some days are good and others bad
My emotions ebb and flow
I stab in the dark for answers
But I may not ever know

I occupy this time and space
This, I’m certain, must be true
But the way in which I carry myself
May speak volumes over what I do

The question of what shall I do
Becomes much too focused on me
The question should, however, change
To answer how you and I will be


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