|
What is this
reflection I see in my glass?
But a small, pathetic creature looking back at
me,
With drooping eyes and shaking hands,
Waiting for the glass to tip,
Opening its mouth for another swallow,
Hoping this one will be the answer,
But by now, forgetting what the question was.
Through a
blurry veil it remembers another time,
A time when all things were clear,
When there was a purpose to everything,
And everything had a purpose.
Now it
just waits for another drop to fall from the rim,
A beautiful, beautiful drop,
To take away the pain,
To keep the veil in place,
So that the pain stays on the other side.
What
caused the pain?
It can't remember,
Doesn't want to remember,
Doesn't need to remember,
For it has the glass,
And the beautiful, beautiful drops.
The
creature looks familiar,
Have I seen it before?
Maybe,
Doesn't matter,
Nothing matters anymore,
Just this glass,
And those beautiful, beautiful drops.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
|
