I do not know you.
I have a name
But no sight
No sounds
No odors to go on.
No memories whatsoever.

She has told me your name
But that is meaningless to me.
She has told me the stories
But they are meaningless, too -
Like Genesis and Exodus
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

It was a man who raised me
Who took me in and loved me
As his own
And it is for his sake
I do not ask questions
I do not seek you out.

Yet it does not quell my curiosity.
I do not act like them.
I do not think like them -
The ones I know I belong to.
So I wonder
Where do I come from?

Who gave me my music?
Who gave me my short stature?
Who gave me my thinning hair?
As much as I try to fight it off
I cannot help but wonder
Am I a coward like you?