I wonder about the people around me
About their hidden faces, their jutting angles
About what their wrinkles, facets and scars hold
Sometimes I do not think about the little things at all
Of time, there isn’t enough
We cannot all afford to be dreamers,
But dream, we must
*
It struck me on a mundane hour
A seemingly insignificant minute,
Who is this person underneath my skin?
Do I know her at all?
How strange,
That I should attempt to figure out sudden strangers
When here is one who breathes with my breath
Who sees through my weak brown eyes
One who feels what I do
And drawn to the stars
Like the poor dazzled moth
How strange …
*
I’m not a little baffled, friend,
But the question still remains,
Who am I?
Like an insistent leaky sink in the silent night
A vital thing that goes wasted, yet the sound annoys
I cannot ignore it
No longer
Before I ponder the wonders of the world
I must seek to discover and map
This mystery that is me
Of the things overlooked in life
Myself? Oh no, I should think not
No, not me.
© Devina S.