Into the sunset

After three scores of years as a semi-automated puppet,

Gesticulating with rebellious obedience to the almighty hands of fate,

Or as they sometimes call them: random fortune, muddled instinct, greedy vanity…

After three scores of years attempting to find his personal track,

To only discover that an existence is neither a path nor a song,

Merely a playlist of moments assembled by chance and played on shuffle…

After three scores of years then, he has come to view life as a day:

Having been born is as ineluctable a fact as the sun rising yesterday and tomorrow,

Or as the knowledge that at some point he, too, perhaps unexpectedly, will walk into the sunset…

So after three scores of years and its corresponding collection of sun cameos,

Every time dawn breaks he feels closer to life itself,

And every time night comes, it brings with it an ever sweeter sense of acceptance,

An understanding that one fine day he will finally start on that ultimate voyage,

Into the sunset.