It seems I tread a looking-glass
these days that linger as they pass
From bluffs looming tall
without ostentation
from deep-rooted sentinels
exuding illumination
a myriad host pours into mine heart
though not-a-one may be found who would truly take part
My thoughts, therefore, return as I sent them
my only recipient, the one who first lent them
I seek her often now
The one who would recieve me:
the heart of a man
at war with want
for whom the world is breathing
The looking-glass if full of “I”
a mirage in water
or the potential to die
Yet another’s bright image would set me to rights
her Self amidst mine
would banish the night
ScrutinyInFaith 