A subconscious thought or dream

that somehow snuck up on me.

Without rhyme or reason,

It lurks behind doorways, it hides behind lies.

Everyone’s doing it,

it’s the oldest latest fad.

We all wish for it to

come.

No,

go,

no, come…

No.

Go.

—

The inevitability of it I couldn’t foresee

When I graduated at the age of sixteen.

Yet here I am, there I was

A dream, a goal, a wish, a buzz.

Do I feel young, or do I feel old?

I’m a teenager walking,

Staring at skyscrapers:

Giant buildings ripping through clouds

Visions, dreams, fame, wealth, fortune, goals, success, maturity.

—-

Age is a number that we all own,

merely a temporary loan.

Another year, another day, another instant

Who am I?

Driven by the impulse to write

To breath out thought, to thoughts unite

The addiction of finding myself in rhyme.

An elaborate plan I’ve orchestrated

Here I am, there I was.

—

I press on now to an unknown goal

riddled with terror, relief, and gold.

Till in a flash of light I find

A soul unique to mine.

Awaiting the day,

I push forward.

Writing, breathing, finding, searching, praying, studying, working, living,

existing.

A deluge of music that is my being.

The strain of age fades away

in light of all that will come today.

A deep breath, a morning grin, a cup of coffee

I will now

begin.

Here I am,

—

I am here.