An interesting frosted window
opens out into the world here.
From where does this reality
come that is set before us
each day? How is it created
so specifically for each of us
upon our special journeys
throughout the light and song
made from the night’s dreams?
From what is it are we made,
suppose to see as we stumble
over the stones and fall down
the stairs? Where is the next
turn within the maze leading
us on our blind journey home?
Did we take that other voice
too personally within the cave.
What does keeping our word
mean inside the darkness
that makes the tunnel so dim?
What did we assume in jungles
to mislead us now, lost within
the labyrinth unfolding inside
our dust smothered hearts?
How do we know the stars
around what we’ve never lost?
How do we become the best
we can ever be each day?
Is the truth really within us;
ourselves tied down? Mirror, oh
bright mirror that is the self
hung on this wall in the tomb;
who's the most real of them all?
