Hey, Self - how do I know that you exist?
Or are you just a word - a useful term
for what we hope our real nature is,
those things about us which we're proud to affirm?
So, can we know you? How to start the search?
A dictionary hardly gives the clue;
Or are you always far beyond our reach?
A mirage always 'too good to be true'?
Or, are you so close known, that we can prove -
by dropping off all that we know we're not -
that what is left is what we are: true love:
that, which we always are; cannot be got.
O Self, you must be all that's true and real:
for without you, we'd never know unreal.
Like I've already said, Dr Nehrlich, let's keep the personal abuse to the private message service, and cease confusing newcomers to this wonderful store of poetry?
Michael, this is not a good poem. It may however, judging by the title, be something that the doctor ordered. I still cannot believe how you reacted in this mess. Guess one always needs to be on guard for surprises. H
This was interesting perspective here. The rhyming is a little forced here, but you get away with it. Simple and good. Nice read.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
dear michael, i gave it a six. this poem reminds me of one of my own poems the name of which i have forgotten. too many to remember.