Written at the Library of Empty Books.
I shall tell you a tale, or maybe a lie? Truth is after all as deceptive as the truth of knowledge of a lie, runs corners when you peek always seems to hide, we love collecting fragments of it, always wish for it all, but push it in the future to some day evermore, before death, or after we say, I shall have that pretty lore....
Who is I? Eye to Eye gaze in gaze,
the reflection of my face,
within a mirror lost in daze,
A world begging you the damn questions,
Who are you? Implying What do you like? and What do you do?
No answers given just petty suggestions,
Politely to please for it is a question of horrible reflection.
In search of I if you walk the world, as many do living after birth
first you are here then you are there,you move forward on solid earth.
But accept I as being what it is, follow the whispers of a heart in now,
you will stop but the world will begin moving towards you, or so they vow.
Likes and Dislikes, Personalities and Ages
Defined as I these Things that have Changes
Minuscule Parts of a bigger whole,
but hardly playing any big nor important role.
The Aging I searching with open Eyes for the Ageless I who is peeking from through the Eyes.