Am I simply the product of my father and my mother,
And may be the reason I am judged by my cover?
Without looking past the sheathing of my soul,
I become a person which most will never know.
Passion and determination is the make-up of this being,
But none of these attributes is what others are seeing.
Who Am I
Striving for greatness or being content as simple folk,
Really doesn't matter as I maintain my level of hope.
I think maybe a blind man could see me even better,
Than those who are sightful yet see me as nether.
Searching for one's identity is not a simple task,
For this answer it is others I shall not ask.
Who Am I
I have asked myself of this at least a thousand times,
Good, bad and ugly - Am I made up of all these kinds?
The negative and the positive qualities is in which I refer,
And so the choice is mine to select, dismiss or defer.
To know me would be to love me for that I am sure,
Only the one that knows who I am, with time, will endure.
Who Am I
Seeking happiness while in search of our purpose in life,
Can be challenging and hurtful as if wounded by a knife.
Once everything has been accomplished, said and done,
Finally the identity shall be revealed of that one.
Unfortunately for some, it becomes too late,
Cherish the people in your life, because death is our fate.
