Where does one go to find oneself,
Where is it always hiding?
An inner cupboard, drawer or shelf,
Where is oneself abiding?

I used to wonder what it meant,
This buzz-phrase of our times.
But now feel somehow life has sent,
A meaning through my rhymes.

When sitting doodling with my pen,
Its ink flows from my heart.
Order borne of chaos when,
To write a rhyme I start.

For it's then I find a peace to think,
About the world and me.
From a clear fresh stream of thought I drink,
And through new eyes soon see.

All at once, I'm on my own,
Removed from all distraction.
In a place, of knowing yet unknown,
And imaginative abstraction.

Then I know I've surely found,
The pure unfettered soul.
To its honesty and truth once bound,
Revealed, 'oneself', my whole.