Halls of the Dark Muse

Prison Glass

I am aware of a feeling
of something like eyes
watching me,

as if from the dead,
of a Netherworld
I have neither been
nor dreamed.

What is left, but for me
to descend down
skeleton stairs
never to be seen.

These reflective pools
holding twin moons
belong to a place
beyond even illusion,

so I stray among the ruins
of fragmented ideals
alone and yet aware
of an other self.

Standing behind every column
a possibility that fades
where they light might
strike.

Not to be caught unaware
with shadow care
these day dreams and
wishes like scattered
flower petals

slip away into invisibility
where only those who are
lost ever find their way.

For the eyes that watch
lay behind the mirror
concealing a world of wonders
behind their prison glass.