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Dusty Shelf
When my heart, was in that special place,
before, I ran against myself,
when I learned, it’s a fools race,
I stuck that me, on a dusty shelf.
But all that, it was years ago,
and that version I competed with, the first of many,
though hidden well, it still shows,
I couldn’t find copper, with a penny.
Now who am I?, one voice asks of me,
and murmurs, clamor through the dust,
to be heard, to live again, to breathe;
oh, the pain, of all these me’s, w’ nary one, to trust.
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