I
.
.
The shortest I would write today
Is as simple as “I”
A letter full of splendor
Reminding me of one’s identity
.
A question, who am I?
With an impact and inner applause,
Often stressed with simple words
Yet only those left unsaid speak most,
Hidden in one’s garden called treasure
.
To answer it is never within a day
But through a series of moments,
Molding one’s clay
The stroke of your conclusions change like rain
Sometimes you are, sometimes you’re not.
.
So who is this “I” I’m talking about?
Was it suppose to be you,
Or why you’re around?
Is it all who you want to be,
Or who you should be?
.
.
-W.A. Garcia
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