Same Sandlot

Seeking me

with each scribbled word

a mystery unfolds

titled, Me.

Each day presents perspectives

long thought but discarded

for they did not appear worthy of

ink from a worn out pen.

Silent confessions leaked out

life, death lived

pictures developed over years

not once snapped by me.

Strings on a beaten guitar

played changed between tears

but eventually remained, sadly

the same each time your name

drifted out with tune.

Still, seeking me

permitted this to be arranged

perhaps from heart, perhaps brain

but always the same

playing out of a sand trap.