What part of us lies dormant
Watching as we scrub our molars each morning
Looking back at our blank faces
That only examine stray hairs and wrinkles
Is it smiling, like a patient Lama?
Or is it defeated, caged and forgotten by us, tortured
Cries never answered with mercy or enlightenment
Does this part of us know our path, the path
And the purpose to our routine?
Smiling as we stumble along
Absorbed by bed times and laundry
Or contemplating the meaning of life
What's waiting in the shadows?
Do we know who's watching?