The endless search
for what is self
cannot be bound in books
upon a shelf
cannot be found in portraits
that others paint of you
Words of wisdom
fall on deaf ears
not to be believed
Others have travelled
this road, before
and will again,
though the path be worn,
but there is always another poem
another story to be told
though the many characters be old,
There is an endless space
between what others see
and what we really want to be.

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