My borrowed space

I sit here, quietly, in this crowd,
minding my own space.
My...borrowed space,
and I watch the world walk by.

These people, all these people,
where do they come from?
Where do they go?
Why do they keep coming?

I look back at my life,
at the things I've done,
the people I've met,
the people I've lost.

Where am I going, here,
in the crowded place?
Which path am I supposed
to walk upon?

What light guides me,
and leads me to
my last, safe haven?
To my final rest?

Even more, I wonder if
I really deserve my final rest.
I have been no angel,
nor the worst demon.

I have nothing to show
for all my time in this world.
There is my heart,
and my many memories.

When Saint Peter asks,
"what have you done,
to deserve to pass beyond
these gates, my little brother?"

What am I supposed to say?
He knows who, and what I am.
Please, I am the worst judge
of my own character.

Why must I answer?
Surly, someone else deserves
to stand here, not me.
Please, I will stand aside.

Let him who helps others enter,
and she who mends wounds.
This boy, who save many animals,
and this girl, who never did wrong.

I know my "could haves,
should haves,"and my failures.
They outweigh my bests.
Please, take the others instead.

For those inside who wait for me,
tell them I said I'm sorry.
Someday, perhaps, when I
finally derserve to stand here.

I sit here, quietly, in this crowd,
and try to chose.
I try to chose those that deserve
to approach Heaven's Gates.

Who is good and worthy?
Whose life is full and bright?
Who has been a beacon?
Who is better than I?