No name

I am looking for you,

across the spectre of life,

through all the pain and

triumph that is the texture

that makes all I am or might be.


My search has been within

the years, in the moments and

the segments of time, coming

and going as I look in earnest

and sometimes think I can see you

in the distance smiling at me.


Shall I stop this seeking as a

futile act of a human fraught

with his own humanity, or

should I keep the looking and

be on this journey that Homer

did pen in his poem of long ago?