Twilight to Midnight

From my twilight to my midnight,
I wonder these things charmingly:
Who would I be if I wasn't me?
I'd be the lady caressing her children's cheeks,
In the park whispering warnings about the
People passing by and I'd sigh,
And tell them not to talk to these strangers,
Or else they would surely die.

What would I be if I wasn't she?
A bear without a will to live,
Climbing into the tallest trees,
Shaking everything from my faith,
To the branches and to the twigs,
And I'd unleash my roar and fall I'm sure,
And I would truly die.

And if not what becomes of me?
I am the oldest man alive.
As my skin cells fill my wrinkles,
Like the sands in the desert,
I'd cough the driest airs,
And attract sympathetic stares,
I hope to fall asleep in my favorite chair,
And I'd be happy to die.

With a flourish I cry! "Behold ye, I am me!"
Without the choice of genetic divinity.
A smile like a wolf and eyes like
Tragic actors fooling fools with smiles,
And revealing the truth with disguises
While my eyes fail to beguile the,
Ones who love me most.
And even if I tried I could not!
I'm too alive to will myself to die.