Scenes from a Existentialist Time Crisis

Its the boy I feel sorry for...
One day soon
I will not be long for this world
A reluctant passenger
on his way to the next.one
 
I will miss the hugs
your tiny hand in mine.
Your heartbeat  
like the pulse of the world
beating and tweeting
in unison with my own
forgotten, now we are
both fully grown.
 
Did I raise you
just to see me turn to dust?
Was I born just to die?
to crawl on hands and knees
to jump from clouds
just to fall?
Its my purpose in life
so I suppose I must?
 
To become the parts
of our storied life's
and adventures
contained in the rustic pages
of the books of mad men
and forgotten children everywhere?
 
Soon I wont be able to kick a ball around a park
Soon I wont understand the simple conversations
that each day I take for granted.
And the love and bond we both share and enjoy
will become a mystery
like the question asked a thousand time's before?
WHY???
 
The circus moves on
The shouting is over..
I can accept this curse
But of course its the boy  
I feel sorry for!