Reflections of Myself
Ever critical inner vision, compounding doubts upon doubts, crippling indecision.
Yet, those reflections I see in the face of others cannot deceive.
A whole person lives within, the composite facade, images that end and begin.
When the moth breaks free to flutter with it's attraction, is it's fire really me?
A few words written, thoughts penned from afar, beckon my attention.
The sanctum of the sphere, completed in pieces strewn around, gathered and examined.
My words of yesterday return in electrons, distant clarity of external vision.
What message next will she send, revealing that which I know to be reflections of myself?
© Dave Lawson, 2000