"Seeing"

Old eighth grade poem.

Looking back, in the past, I sit and wonder what was that?

Was I, I? Were you, you? Was anything even true?

All I have, memories flying by, all I greet with a sigh,

Maybe sad, maybe lonely, I sit and ponder: "if only".

In my life, I see nothing there, except what now lies only bare,

I look to the future, always hoping, maybe one day I'll stop moping.

Open the door, let in the sun, maybe once again have fun,

Always thinking, always dreaming, maybe one day I'll start seeing,

Because you know what they say, every single day:

seeing is believing.