Eulogy

Who are those that caused the scramble of DNA,
through the Eons,
to today, that I call me and you call you?

For those that were,
To them that are,
And they who might be:

I see with eyes that aren’t mine,
I think thoughts that are alien,
feeling the gentle influence of the other.
The parent in my head,
it’s not the me that thinks, that!
In stead, all the other me’s, the genetic history
that make-up, in my mind,
where do they come?
I can only guess.

Early morn,
before the me I know so well takes over,
they have their say.

Find more by Richard Tornello in the Author Index.

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