A disclaimer: So I recently found an old book, tucked away on my shelf that had some writing from high school in it and I wanted to share the first page of that book, because for some reason the 15 year old me seemed to know where he was going in life, long before I actually ever figured it out. Please enjoy.
If you find this book
And feel the urge to return
Him to his rightful owner
Ask yourself one thing,
Where did you find him?
Was he resting on the middle seat of a train,
Forgotten in my haste?
Did I leave him on a cafe table
Absentmindedly during a poetry reading?
Was he left on a park bench after
A day of writing what could possibly be called poetry?
If so, please return him for I am sure I will be looking.
Now, if you found him in the trash
And his pages are stained by discarded coffee,
Or if he survived at the bottom of the ocean
For you to find, leave him there. This
Poet has given up on poetry and art, ultimately life.
But if you find him tucked away on a shelf or
Packed into a box in the attic, or on the desk
By the window, please stop reading and
Close the book. Close the book, for I have yet
To find what I was looking for, yet to
Find an answer between these pages
To a question I have yet to ask.