Tuesday, March 3, 2020

Have I read you this sonnet before?

So many know my name, and yet so few
Know me; I'm more and less than what I seem
To be, called friend by many people who
Know me as I know night by chance moonbeam.
Chameleon-like, I change my psychic skin
Depending whom I'm with and what the day,
Unending fitting, never fitting in--
Amending how I look and what I say.
My soul complete, its multiplicity
A whole, but outside, actor-like, I show
The role I choose, or fate assigns to me.
     And as no one can know my entity
     I know no one, but only simile

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