Dark Muse
09-14-2008, 01:19 AM
Behind the Looking Glass
I am lost within the looking glass
where the candle flames begin to flicker
a way is lit, a silver path
But the whispers call in echoes,
a voice of the nightingale to bid
and beckon through the briar patch
Shunned by the light of the moon
the thorns become dark and dull
but wetted by the blood that is spilled
I walk along the spiny shore
trusting not to the way which
has been laid in brick and stone
To follow the spell
where I encounter my own shadow
drifting ahead of me
Cast perhaps in the glowing orbs
which ever drift above me yet I move away,
farther inside the mirror mask
A prison made of glass
yet unbreakable,
for each reflection
Show a glimmer of the labyrinth
which may offer some escape
from the eternal night
Myself surrounded in silver segments
each a sliver of some truth
but on every side there is a lie
Followed by the poisoned offering
a mere feather touch might cause
the illusion to shatter
But once it clears away
what is left to remain
when you stand and face yourself
Not a glimmer or a flicker
nor a simple shade of soul
but the self detached from glass
I am lost within the looking glass
where the candle flames begin to flicker
a way is lit, a silver path
But the whispers call in echoes,
a voice of the nightingale to bid
and beckon through the briar patch
Shunned by the light of the moon
the thorns become dark and dull
but wetted by the blood that is spilled
I walk along the spiny shore
trusting not to the way which
has been laid in brick and stone
To follow the spell
where I encounter my own shadow
drifting ahead of me
Cast perhaps in the glowing orbs
which ever drift above me yet I move away,
farther inside the mirror mask
A prison made of glass
yet unbreakable,
for each reflection
Show a glimmer of the labyrinth
which may offer some escape
from the eternal night
Myself surrounded in silver segments
each a sliver of some truth
but on every side there is a lie
Followed by the poisoned offering
a mere feather touch might cause
the illusion to shatter
But once it clears away
what is left to remain
when you stand and face yourself
Not a glimmer or a flicker
nor a simple shade of soul
but the self detached from glass