What is left of me...

Deeply personal,

A diary of notes.

Archived and etched,

Some friendly anecdotes.

A shelf full of books,

Count of a few hundred.

And most of them,

Regrettably unread.

From when I was young,

Some artistic scrawls.

When crayons were paint,

And canvas the walls.

Also a lot of paper,

About the wealth I've amassed.

And some scraps, that mention,

The degrees I've passed.

A picture of two, the proof,

That I’m a married man.

And to be passed further as heirloom,

A rusty old table fan.

Tonics and balms and bottled drugs,

The markers of my age.

That’s what is left of me,

My life, stage by stage.

It saddens me of course, for,

That's all that is left of me…

Meager, momentous, and truthfully,

That’s all that is left of me...

And Now…

Over to the right side of the room!