Not To Keep Returning The Subject To Myself

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Not to keep returning the subject to myself
But there are certain truths I must understand
I’m no one special, a mere footnote
A history to be written, though not as planned

Dreams & hopes that never came to be
A rakish poet nor grizzled old typesetter
Through the years & false daily realities
It is inexplicable the mundane became better

So I find myself with a specific freedom
To be able to move without any sort of cosmic retort
For I have faith in love, fate & ultimate grace
Allowed to live without any innate need to stop short