Fourteen
A moment of greatness is when one recognizes
his own identity. I was just a young boy,
barely fourteen years of age staring down at a blank
piece of yellow lined paper with a pencil
twirling in my right hand. There were so many
things to write but my mind couldn’t find
the voice to articulate my emotions; the words
wouldn’t formulate the thoughts hidden deep
down inside of me. I was a young boy, barely
fourteen years of age searching for his expression.
I looked out the window and saw life
slightly tapping against the smudged glass and I watched
the wind tickle the clouds as the sun played
peek-a-boo with my vision. It was a moment that stood still;
a moment I found the birth mark of my soul to be
the words I couldn’t grasp clearly enough
until I allowed every sadness and every joy
to caress my heart. I allowed my every dream
to hold witness to the paths of my hope
and I allowed my every fear to breakthrough
the silence of an adolescence nameless and voiceless
defining himself
as the pencil begin to write the many
conflicts of growth
and the many transparencies of discovery.
I looked within me to find the self; I looked
within me to discover transcendence and in that moment;
the greatest moment—just a boy barely fourteen years
of age, I found the language of written identity.
© 2011
Tarringo T. Vaughan
