Existenz

I've been doing some reading of a critical analysis of existentialism, most recently, and, most latterly to that, sat down and found an old notepad lying about, which, in leafing through, led me to an old- four or five years now- poem, or written piece, that succinctly surmised the notion of  'Sartre-ian' existence. As follows!

The words escape me,
as they escape all,
who struggle in vain
to glorify
that singularity
when man at once
acknowledges
he is no longer
whom he once
thought he was,
and at that moment
cannot comprehend
whatever it is
he is to be.