I`d welcome any bright suggestion,
Which might help me, resolve a question,
That I can't answer, though I try.
I mean "Just who or what am I?"
Not my name, or where I reside,
The elusive me that dwells inside.
The me that none can see or touch,
That makes me want to know, so much,
What guides the thoughts, inside my brain,
Then makes me stop, and think again.
I'm not the person that you see,
That's just the shell, which houses me.
We see an old well fingered page,
But the story it tells, will never age.
I just don't feel the way I look.
I'm the story, not the book.
Ignore the cover, read the page.
If you wish my worth to gauge,
I'm not that veteran, which you see.
I'm neither young, nor old, just "ME".
R J Baker
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