The closer I got, the farther she pulled,
It seems the man upstairs did all he could,
To stop me from obtaining my separate peace,
Why does He deny this need to be free?

I think I see why He's inevitably,
Throwing boulders in my path, to serenity.
I guess this fighting, this longing, these wishful dreams,
Are what gives me my name, keeps me up for the game.

The most arduous of queries is "Who are you?"
For a name does not answer half of what's true .
How 'bout your braun, eye color, or of skin,
None gives me repose from this duplicite question.

Some say profession, "I'm Doctor Riddeck,"
This pompous rebuddle is incorrect.
I hope it is not one's feelings, or this love that was tossed,
For then, who would I be? Except for lost.

This answer seems to be locked up 'till your dead or your gone,
So on that note I'm leaving at the end of this poem.
But before I go, I'll leave you with the last of my thoughts,
All that is given freely, with no burden of cost.

"Who are you?" Well I'm the future of love,
I'm the secret of my soul, locked up from above.
I'm the aftermath of a dying allure,
I'm that cut in the winds, corruption's last cure.
I'm gone.