Identity

The endless possibility of my identity,
Bound by a chain of bittersweet recollections,
Am I a mere vessel for the past in the present?
Like an oak adding layers over years,
Tall and mighty yet clinging to sapling dreams.
Am I bound by your memories?
As a son, a brother, a friend, a lover.

Time can be the mind’s corrupt governor,
Knotting memories into your being,
That occupy the present and taint
your heart with the fear of repetition,
And an unjust weariness that belittles life’s essence.

Am I a memory of self-unfolding?

If I am to be a vessel,
May it not be to ancient whispers,
lacquered with incessant after-thought.
May I instead be a host to my own humanity,
Alive to the decay that darkness brings
Through shadows that impersonate life.

You’ve been hiding in the undertow,
Let me see the face hidden from my own eyes.
May I be ever present in the now,
For that is all there will ever be of me.