Open Source Poem II

If every moment has a continued existence in the mind,
isn’t it kind to think that the medium,here before you,
his handlebar moustache marking him out as eccentric,
the tweed trousers a mistake for his years, only forty,
stands some suspect chance, admittedly, of revealing
to you, the seeker, some hint, a shadow of her heart?

To even have a shadow of a heart, one must first have had a heart,
Admitted the senses, the feelings of humanity to oneself,
Taken a part in that human game known as life, confessed their mortality.
How could I then be known to anyone else? How could he know me?
For him to truly know me, I would have to have knowledge of myself
And that mystery of self is hazier still to me than to he.


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