Inks and Ego

This summer I was searching.
Going to places alone and looking for no one but myself.
Nothing but my reflection.
Which I tried to find in people.
In music.
In the sunlight over the river.
In the morning.
At night.
Midday.

There is no hurt in this memory.
Success is relative, I know.
I did see glimpses though.
In lyrics.
In smiles.
In breeze.
That came and went.
And I think that.
If the world told me it was for me.
Every time I walked out the door.
I'd struggle to find my true face.
There is nothing comparable. 

Not even the sun shines as I do.
Not even bird wings are as open.
Not even the river could stir such feeling...

As the one I felt when.
The rain poured on me and.
I picked up a pen.
To see a whole world of words.
That I myself had crafted.



- Hermenia Powers


A tad nostalgic. Happy 00:51 am.