Some Questions To Myself On My Quest To Happiness Poem by RIC BASTASA

ask me, and i will answer:

i got what i wanted from this life, but despite
that fact, there is still the question
to and fro
like a doubtful philosopher
like a pendulum of grandfather's clock:

what did i really want?

i did call myself my own beloved
(am i not narcissistic in this sense?)

i felt myself with my own fingers, my chest, my body,
my thighs, my feet


so attached to the ground
like i am monument
of a war hero, but there is still this question
that walks to and fro
on the yard, like a doubtful philosopher:

who am i really? why am i here?