One of the last-minute kind?

Question

You crashed through my wall

Grabbed me by the wrist,

And pulled me along

I’ll turn your song on,

And I’ll leave the room

I don’t know why I’m writing…

Maybe I write

Because nobody’s reading, and nobody will

No, not until next generation

Now they lie to your face

And you know it, and you like it

Embrace them, with your imperfect arms

Because too many good ideas

Too many put together, is deadly.

I know it won’t last

But until then, I’ll pick up what you put down

I know I’ll miss you when you’re gone,

But turning back the hands,

It only makes it worse.

Because I know how this story ends,

I won’t forget, even in the past

So I’ll keep on writing until someone starts reading

I’ll write how I love you, and whom I lost, daddy

So that when we’re all gone

At least somebody will know

Answer 1

As I was reading this, I imagined you speaking very firmly, adamantly, and matter-of-factly.  Although it could easily be confused as passive-agressive, its tinge of anger is evident enough and forced enough so that the meaning of the poem is clear.  Just by reading this, I imagined the speaker as being a very experienced, knowledgable person.  Very nice;)

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