The Backpacker

In your eyes

Is a story untold

Yet I know,

Before next chapter unfolds

That I play a role

In none of them

I looked for me

In every verse

In every line

And every word

But found me nowhere

Then I sighed                    

And turned to the moon

Red in the face

Just going up to work

Yet finding time

To play a game of hide and seek

I ask him why

Why am I not alive

In your eyes

Why is that,

As characters go

I find no part to play

For you know

As far as feeling go

None can match

What I feel for you

The naughty moon

Slowly smiled

And to me said,

How, in his story

can you find

yourself?

Don’t you know,

You are the very ink,

The very paper

On which the story

He writes?

Then he went up the sky

And the corners of my eyes dried

For the moon was…HOPE