Ephemera

I saw someone on the train todayBut they didn’t meet meThe yearsAnd Red LipstickConcealing who I once wasHow I once walked through the worldI wonder if I am the same person that I was thenI remember his memoriesAnd experiencesHis hurtsAnd dreamsI remember being HimBut does that constitute sameness?Perhaps I am like stones on a shoreThe constant beat of the surfWearing away all those layersAll those ConceitsWearing me smoothLike a silk summer dressPerhaps I amThe wall of an abandoned warehouseBeing tagged, retaggedAgain and againPainted over by muralsThat vividly announced the difficultyOf living brown and poorConstantly shiftingConstantly changingAnd yetA stone is still a stoneAnd a wall is still a wallPerhaps, then, I am a poemFull of meaning and nonsenseA living, breathingCreatureBorn of joy and sorrowThat, when read, is immortalizedHeld in the reader’s soulOrVanishWith a few strokes of a keyLost, like so much ephemeraA passing fad that fadesBefore it is even remembered.