Art, Life


No Light without darkness

I am not real. I never was.
The wind blows, carrying me like a winter leaf.
Fragile, I hold life in my hands;
I have no life of my own.
Life carries me where it wills,
My choices are not mine to make.
Yet I hold the Keys.
I am the Gate of Life and Portal of Death.
Eternity is my gift.
I mirror the world and am, myself, its reflection;
Unreachable, unreal.
Separate from the stream.
None touch me, and all.
Am I the courage to follow a dream?
I go where I am sent.
Unchanging, I bring change.
Both cause and catalyst.
Change follows my touch, blood behind the scalpel,
For good or evil, I do not know,
Nor may I stay to see the end.
But pay the price in pain.
I fly through dream.
I walk the nightmare alone,
Terrifying semblance of reality,
A landscape of hooded hills.
A conquered mountain, a shrouded vale unknowable.
Ghouls taunt me, shadows of Self,
Echoed in vision.
My masks are many,
None knows them all, even I.
Some own a mask, believe they hold me
But I hide in laughter and hunger, waiting.
My time is not yet,
And has always been now.
I am a dream, a fantasy,
Smoke in a sunbeam, elusive.
Joy and pain render me visible,
Yet both are tenuous,
Fragile as snow, shadows in the glass.
I am not real. I never was.


3 thoughts on “‘I’”

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